


Eyes on Fire

by NovelistAngel23



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Blood, Multi, Necromancy, Starbucks, Trans Male Character, Trans Marco Bott, Vampires, basically everyone but jean is a witch, marco and armin are best friends, minor yumikuri - Freeform, non-violent death imagery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8173646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovelistAngel23/pseuds/NovelistAngel23
Summary: Marco is a necromancer, struggling to balance his normal life with his magical life. But when an unforseen danger attacks the magic community, one of the regular customers of the coffee shop he works at--a human named Jean--is caught in the middle and discovers Marco is a witch. Despite a memory charm that should have erased his memory, Jean feels drawn to Marco--and soon Marco begins to feel an attraction as well.





	1. Wisdom

The entrance to the building was as nondescript as any old tattoo parlor. Marco figured that was the point of course. Even he sometimes missed it—perhaps that was the work of the charm Erwin had put on the place what seemed like years ago now. Regardless, Marco was well practiced at finding the place, despite any mirages set in place.

Hanging in the windows was a sign with the name of the establishment (Runes) and images of some symbols the employees were skilled in creating. Some were ones Marco had long since permanently marked into his own skin.

One for protection on his wrist—he’d received that not long after discovering his powers. One for strength on the nape of his neck. One for wisdom on the small of his back (Armin liked to call it his tramp stamp). One for joy on his collarbone—Armin had tattooed that one on him himself, on a drunken dare. Marco was sure Armin’s shaky hands had messed it up somehow. It would explain a lot.

Marco took a long moment to study the runes, wondering, not for the first time, if they worked if you didn’t believe in them. Armin trusted them completely, or so he made a point of assuring him. Marco pressed his hand very gently to the small of his back and took a deep breath before stepping inside the tattoo parlor.

It was very small inside and cramped. Hanji had designed the place after all, and she was not very good with organization. Marco was surprised Levi or Erwin hadn’t gone on a cleaning spree at some point.

He wasn’t the only person in the building. There were two customers sitting and chatting on the bench in the tiny waiting area. The muffled grunts and groans of someone being tattooed and the endless buzz of a machine going filled his ears as well. The two customers stared as he walked past and towards the back room. His Starbucks uniform surely stood out in such a small, dark place, and all of his tattoos were hidden away beneath his clothes.

Marco was used to the stares. He just smiled politely at the two and continued on towards the back room. In a tattered bag hanging by his side were two cards burning a hole through the fabric—he could only hope they weren’t doing so literally.

“Levi?” Marco called softly as he stepped through the beaded doorway.

Levi could often be found poring over his collection of weapons hidden away where the customers couldn’t find them. Thus, he was easy to find, back hunched as he meticulously cleaned ichor and blood from the surface of a serrated knife. Marco knew from experience that surprising him could result in getting that knife buried in his face. He preferred his face intact, freckles and dimples and all.

He kept his voice soft to pull Levi out of his trance, enough for him to grunt his assent for Marco to come forward at least. “Get out of the doorway,” he muttered, lifting the knife to look at it more carefully.

The lighting in the back was as dim as the rest of the building, but Levi’s eyes glowed faintly: a sure sign that he’d cast a sight spell to better his vision in the darkness. He did so often. Marco remembered when Levi had taught him the spell, telling him that glasses were a hindrance. Since then Marco had taken to wearing contacts instead. He wasn’t good enough a witch to spend so much energy on keeping up a sight spell day in and day out.

“I’ve got those cards,” Marco whispered, lifting his bag and digging inside for the little Ziploc bag carrying them.

Levi’s eyes flickered to his hand as he held out the cards, and Marco was sure if he were a dog, his ears would have perked up. “Really. Haven’t seen those in years.”

Marco smiled a little, only the tiniest hint of bitterness in the expression. “Yeah, they were hard to lay my hands on.”

“Where’d you find them?”

“Werewolf, outskirts of the city.”

Levi rolled his eyes and took the bag. “Everything is on the outskirts of the city, Marco.”

Marco shrugged, his smile turning sheepish. “You know I’m bad at directions.”

There was a tiny scoff as Levi plucked a card from the bag. They were tarot cards, part of a deck he’d long ago lost. He claimed they were meant to be lost, that these cards could only accurately depict the future once they’d had time to see the world.

Marco knew it was bullshit. Levi was just good at losing things. He’d bought deck after deck—even created one himself once—but they always ended up disappearing.

Levi flicked the card back and forth, and for the briefest moment, Marco was drawn to the way the image changed with each flip. Death. The Lovers. The Moon. Levi watched Marco as he flipped the card back and forth. “Fancy, huh?”

Marco’s head shot up from his staring, and he looked at Levi with a sheepish blush growing on his cheeks. “Oh. Yes. It’s interesting. Do any of them have a set design?”

Levi shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Been too long. Don’t remember.” His eyes were sharp when he snapped them back up to meet Marco’s. The sight spell made them feel like flashlights in his eyes. It didn’t bother Marco too much—he’d been interrogated before. “So what did you see?”

Marco frowned. Levi wasn’t a mind reader—that was Armin’s thing. But he had a way of knowing when someone was lying nonetheless. Marco bit his lip and shook his head. “I’d answer, but I’ve got a side job and kind of need to go,” he muttered, tugging at his uniform polo.

Levi rolled his eyes, flipping the card in his hand and looking at it instead this time. “Whatever, get going.”

Marco frowned, too polite to hold his hand out in questioning. But he did expect to be paid for retrieving Levi’s cards. Levi only glanced up at him after a minute, raising an eyebrow in question. “What?”

Marco sighed, his fingers wrapping around the strap of his bag. “I’m supposed to get paid…” he muttered, wisely not keeping eye contact with the man.

Levi didn’t even bother rolling his eyes, merely sitting back in his seat again. “It wasn’t even an official job, kid.”

Marco felt irritation bubble at the base of his throat, building its way through his Adam’s apple. “But—“

“Oh Levi, don’t be so stingy!”

The sound of Hanji’s voice made Marco jump in surprise, looking behind him at her walking up towards them. Hanji wore glasses—she didn’t often go on jobs like Levi, Marco, and even Armin, so there was no reason to abandon the dorky goggle-like glasses suctioned to her face. Her hair was up in a messy bun. Marco knew the buzzing tattoo machine had been her work from the ink-stained gloves on her hands.

“Hey, Hanji,” Marco sighed.

He wasn’t prepared for the playful bickering that was sure to pop up. He really was soon to be late for his job, and he didn’t feel like using magic to get there on time. That werewolf had taken too much out of him, even if he had finished the job a few days before.

Hanji almost swung her inky arm over Marco’s shoulder, but he quickly ducked out of the way, gesturing to his uniform when she looked at him in question. “Oh! Sorry, sorry,” Hanji apologized, skipping around the desk Levi sat at and going to dig in a drawer. There were keys in there, and the safe sat behind a painting next to the desk (very original, Armin had once joked, voice as sarcastic as always).

“This should be enough, right?”

Marco fingered through the money Hanji handed him, finding at least a hundred and fifty in his hands. It was less than he’d been hoping for, but he’d always had high expectations. “Yeah, it’s good, thank you,” he told Hanji, and with a nod to Levi, he turned on a heel to head back out through the beaded doorway. But he paused halfway through, leaning back to look at the two, who’d already just about started their friendly bickering. “Hey, you guys seen Armin?” he asked.

Levi shrugged, and Hanji looked like she was thinking hard. “Mmmm, nah, can’t say I have,” she finally said.

Marco sighed and nodded. He was probably on a job himself. It’d been a week or so, and Marco was starting to worry. He knew he shouldn’t, that Armin himself would scold him for getting so nervous--but he’d always been a worry wart.

“Thanks anyway,” he muttered and disappeared through the doorway.

* * *

Marco had worked at the Starbucks near the university long before he’d found out about his abilities. Not a few times, Armin had told him he should give up the job and just start working at the tattoo parlor full-time. It didn’t just tattoo runes on customers but also sold rare and hard to obtain ingredients for potions and spells and the like.

Armin had started working there a year or so back, if Marco remembered correctly. Where Marco only collected the ingredients, Armin also sold them. It paid better, he said.

But Marco felt like it just wasn’t the job for him.

He’d long since gotten used to the hectic day to day of working full-time at Starbucks. The uniform fit him just right, and he’d memorized the recipes for each drink. He even knew the regulars by name and face.

Cashing in the last order after calling it behind him to the other baristas working behind the counter, he didn’t even look up as he said, “Welcome to Starbucks, what can I get for you today?”

The person that replied was one of the regulars. Marco knew his voice by heart now, having worked there for a year now. The moment he heard the man begin to say, “Caramel macchiato,” Marco had grabbed a cup and written down the name.

“Ham sandwich too, Jean?” he asked, looking up at him.

Jean was a ruffled college student. From what Marco could tell, he didn’t have a decided major yet, his workload painfully general--math and science and English and Spanish. But he also knew that Jean worked part time at the local natural history museum. Armin was a sucker for a good museum after all.

Jean seemed tired today, dark circles under his eyes as he stared at the display case. “Yeah…” he muttered. “How much are those muffins?”

Marco smiled as he answered, and fought a frown when Jean sighed. Marco felt the twenties in his pocket burn a hole in his uniform.

He took Jean’s payment and told him his order would be out in a moment, and without a word went over to heat up his sandwich and hand over the drink cup to another of the baristas.

He worked quickly after that, taking the orders and payments from the next few people waiting and then waiting himself by the register for any more customers coming.

He felt the voice like a buzz at the back of his head when it first came, and he had to close his eyes and lean back to focus on it so that it didn’t make his head ache.

 _Marco? Hey, pay attention to me!_ the voice whined, and Marco had to suppress a grin, lest he look insane to the patrons of the shop.

 _Long time, no voice_ , he thought, wondering where Armin had disappeared to all this time. Only a few days sure, but when you don’t talk to your best friend for a few days, it’s hard to not notice.

Armin was as sarcastic as always—Marco could practically hear him rolling his eyes from the sound of his voice in his head. _Come see me and I’ll tell you what I’ve been up to._

Marco was more than suspicious of the sing-song lilt to his voice, and he opened his eyes and tapped his fingertips against the counter, considering the offer. _Right now?_ he thought. _I don’t think I can swing it. I was late for work today, and it’s not my break._

Armin’s laugh was only the tiniest bit condescending—his voice always had that way about it, a little condescending due to the knowledge that he was usually smarter than whoever he was talking to. Marco couldn’t blame him for it. He really was smarter than most people after all.

_Christa Lenz, Sunday, 10 AM, look up buddy._

Marco glanced up and smiled knowingly as a little blue car pulled up to the parking lot. Give me a minute, he sighed.

He pushed away from the counter and headed for the back room where Ymir was fast asleep in a chair at the little table saved for employees on their break. Ymir, it seemed, was always on break. At least until her girlfriend walked through the doors.

“Ymir,” Marco called, softly shaking her shoulder.

She leapt awake, almost knocking over the chair. “WHO THE FUCK!” she cried out, looking around wildly as if someone had attacked her.

Marco was more than used to the way she woke up, having been the one sent to wake her up more than once at the end of the work day. “Christa’s at the counter, and I need to take my break early,” he said, getting straight to the point. He also knew she didn’t appreciate people who beat around the bush.

Ymir blinked at him slowly for a bit, clearly still waking up, before a sly grin spread across her face. “You had me at hot blonde,” she chuckled, pushing out of her seat and fixing her hair with a rudimentary touch. “Take my break buddy, but I’m taking yours.”

Marco smiled. “Noted,” he replied.

But as he left, he quickly ordered one of the fall themed muffins. It wasn’t too much--especially not with his dubiously obtained bonus of the week. As he walked past Jean, tapping away at his laptop, he dropped it off, and didn’t wait to see his reaction. After all, Armin wasn’t exactly patient.

It wasn’t long before he’d packed his stuff for a quick trip to a local café, the place where he and Armin most often hung out. He stepped outside, trying to check in again with Armin as he headed for his car. Armin’s voice in his mind was familiar and losing it so suddenly for so long had put him on edge. Now that it was back, he wouldn’t have minded hearing it all day, even though that usually gave him a headache.

 _Armin?_ he asked once he got in his car, his eyes closing briefly to focus on reaching out for his friend’s consciousness. He wasn’t nearly as sensitive to other people’s consciousness as Armin was but then, his specialty wasn’t telepathy. Marco had his own unique set of skills, and communication wasn’t included. _You there? We’re meeting at Coffee For Days, right?_

Armin’s voice sighed, _Is that even a question?_

Marco couldn’t help but chuckle. It was nice to hear him again. “Missed you,” he said aloud.

Armin laughed as well. _Yeah, yeah, missed you too. Now get that death trap of a truck of yours going, I’m waiting!_

* * *

“About time,” Armin called, and it took Marco a moment to realize his voice wasn’t inside his head.

Armin was a petite blonde, big blue eyes and a thick head of golden hair. If he were taller, Marco knew he’d be impossible to miss. But being small and easily missed worked just fine for Armin anyway—he said once that he preferred to work in the shadows (a claim that had Marco laughing for at least an hour straight).

Marco headed over to the table Armin occupied, a little booth in the corner of the shop, where the dim mood lighting didn’t quite reach. Of course, that was probably why Armin had decided on that table. He liked to act out the stereotype, mysterious magic user, clandestine meetings in dim cafes.

 _He’s not very good at it though_ , Marco thought as he looked at the array of food sitting before him, all almost completely eaten already. The only mystery about him was how he’d managed to down all of it so fast.

“Shut up,” Armin muttered in response to Marco’s unspoken thoughts. “I’ve been using a lot of magic, you know I need to eat to build up my strength again.”

Marco was immediately concerned, sliding into his seat and looking at Armin with wide eyes. “Yeah, about that, where on earth have you been?”

Armin smirked and said, “Outskirts of town,” clearly mocking Marco’s usual answer about his own whereabouts when he finished a job.

Marco rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat. He had to be fine if he was being snarky, but concern for him still lingered in the back of his head. He heard Armin sigh and glanced up at him. Armin liked to be snarky, but he often gained this thoughtful glaze to his expression that reminded Marco how intelligent he really was.

“Sorry,” Armin finally said, picking loosely at the crust of a sandwich he’d already downed. “I know I disappeared without warning.”

“Yeah,” Marco replied, but he couldn’t bring himself to be angry for being left without a word. He was just glad Armin was okay. But the look on his face made Marco wonder if that was even true. “But it’s okay. Now I’m just wondering why? I can’t imagine a job taking that long…”

Armin looked at him directly, his eyes unsettlingly unwavering. Marco shivered internally, and as Armin’s lips moved to say, “Why don’t you order something to eat?” Marco heard his voice in his head telling him they couldn’t speak freely.

Armin only did that every now and then—he used to practice it on Marco, and even then it had made Marco feel a little sick, trying to process what he said when he was saying two things at once. He was used to it now, but it still confused him a little. Somehow Marco managed to understand and stood up to order a cheap sandwich from the barista at the counter.

Armin’s words in his head worried him, and he tried to sort through his thoughts, even if he knew Armin could read all of them and make sense of them for him. If Armin was going to be in his head, he wanted to have an actual conversation with him, not let him have his free roam.

As he walked to his table with his order in his hands, he tried not to let them shake. “Good,” Armin said, a sweet smile on his face and all of his sarcasm from before gone. “You look skinny as bones, Marco, you’ve got to start eating more.”

 _I didn’t mean to scare you_ , Armin’s voice echoed in Marco’s mind, his tone more natural and serious. _I was out on a scouting job for Erwin._

Marco rolled his eyes at Armin’s sweetness. “Okay grandma,” he teased, taking a bite of his food.

_A scouting job? That sounds like… Official Business._

Armin continued to eat casually, every now and then saying something with his voice instead of his mind, to make people believe they really were having just a polite conversation. No one would know something was wrong unless they saw that Marco was holding the sandwich in place, eyes glazed over as he focused on communicating with Armin.

 _Not_ Official _official business_ , Armin assured. _No council of old ladies and all that. But… it is a pretty big deal._

Marco’s stomach churned. He set his sandwich down. _Okay, what’s a pretty big deal?_

Erwin, Levi, and Hanji had in a way taken in Marco and Armin, teaching them both most of what they knew about witch society. The Council (original name and all) was more of a Homeowners Association if anything. They had branches in every major city, and those branches had branches in every district. Erwin was the head of one of such branches. Usually nothing big happened, and everything was quiet.

But every now and then…

_I’ve been out of town._

_I know that much, Armin…_

_Yeah, but._

Armin sighed, pushing his plate away from himself. It was mostly empty anyway. Marco’s eyes flicked down to study the movement, and he suddenly wondered what exactly it was Armin had been up to. How had it taken so much energy out of him?

_Erwin’s been sensing something going on not far from the city._

_Erwin?_ Marco laughed a little, but it sounded strained. _He’s an empath that works in a tattoo parlor—the only thing he feels is regret._

Armin genuinely snorted at that, an amused smile on his face. Marco’s joking couldn’t take away the nervous air between them however. They both knew how skilled Erwin was, how far his powers could reach. If he was feeling something in the next city over, there had to be something going on. He wondered if Levi had seen anything with his future sight too.

_Armin… stop beating around the bush, okay? Just tell me what’s going on, I’m getting worried._

Armin leaned his elbows on the table and looked at Marco seriously. _There’s nothing… confirmed yet_ , he tried to assure, but it only made Marco’s stomach twist. _Erwin’s been hearing rumors about it for a while now. It used to be just talk, but… then someone died and…_

Marco’s eyebrows furrowed, the only sign of his struggle not to look as horrified as he felt. _Someone died, holy crap, Armin, what is going on?_

_Vampires._

Marco looked at Armin incredulously. Vampires were peaceful. Except for the revenants, vampires that had long since lost their humanity, but those were far and few between…

_I know, it sounds crazy. I was sure Erwin was just being paranoid, that it was a coincidence but… He sent me out to gather some intel after he heard of that witch’s death. That’s why I was out of town—_

_And why you didn’t tell me earlier?_

_Erwin wanted me to keep quiet… didn’t want to scare anyone without solid evidence._ Armin took a sip of his soda, but the ice had melted and made it watery, so he made a face before setting it down. Marco waited patiently for him to continue. _But now… Marco… there’s a group of vampires and they’re… they’re hunting witches._

Marco stared at Armin for a long moment of silence, his expression somewhere between incredulous and bewildered. He leaned back in his seat and looked at his sandwich, only one bite taken out of it. Vampires. Vampires hunting witches? It made no sense, he couldn’t fathom _why…_

_I don’t know why. Not yet. I looked for someone who could give me information, but I didn’t find anything like that… I just saw…_

Marco’s eyes narrowed, prying silently for information of his own. Armin stopped stalling. _I saw a group of vampires gang up on a witch and kill her. Cold blood. There wasn’t anything I could do to stop it, I just…_

Marco’s face fell. He reached out and laid his hand over Armin’s as it shook against the tabletop. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice soft amongst the din of the café.

Armin’s glassy eyes hardened, and he flipped his hand to squeeze Marco’s. _I’m fine. I’m technically not supposed to tell you any of this, at least not before I tell Erwin but… I wanted to make sure you stayed safe._

Marco nodded in understanding. Before all this witch stuff, it had always been just Armin and just Marco. Never the most popular at school and never the strongest, up against bullies they’d always stood together.

Since Armin started working full-time for Erwin at the tattoo parlor, he’d been feeling a disconnect growing between them…

But he knew it was being bridged with every passing day. The fact that Armin went to Marco first was evidence enough of that.

He squeezed Armin’s hand, and Armin looked up at him, concern evident in his big blue eyes. Marco just smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be fine,” he said aloud.

Armin answered aloud as well, his thin lips in a little smile. “Yeah. I believe you.”

Their conversation quickly turned friendly after that, a discussion with voices instead of thoughts, until Marco suddenly remembered that he was only on break. Packing up his things (Armin insisted he pay for Marco’s sandwich) and rushing towards the door, he waved goodbye to Armin. There was a grin on his face, despite the things Armin had told him.

Armin waved back, and as he said, “See you later!” Marco heard in his head, the words, _Be careful…_

* * *

Marco’s shift lasted from morning to afternoon, and he often got home late after volunteering to close for his actual manager, Ymir. So it was already dark outside the cloudy windows of his humble apartment by the time he made it home.

His apartment that he liked to call humble was really just cramped and full of boxes of junk. He always had been sentimental, unable to let go of things even when he didn’t particularly care about them anymore. Old toys, old books, old knickknacks from old friends on old vacations. In his bedroom, hidden within a plastic bin, was a pile of dusty postcards from a friend on vacation in Europe. They’d signed their lowercase I’s with hearts.

But mostly Marco kept pictures. Some were hung up, pictures of his parents before he was born, and pictures of him and Armin after getting their acceptance letters to a prestigious university (neither of them stayed long after Marco discovered his powers).

In photo albums, he kept pictures he preferred not to look at for long, ones of a little girl with thick curly hair and Marco’s brown eyes and freckles, standing beside his mother.

There were a few of those set about on tables, only because Marco didn’t have any other recent pictures of his mother.

He spared one of said pictures a glance before he plopped down boneless on his couch. It was just as messy as the rest of the place, but comfortable—the springs had long since lost their bounce, so he just sank into the fabric as if his couch were really a beanbag.

The TV stood across from the couch, the kitchen only a few steps away (too far he decided), but Marco paid neither of them any mind, instead eyeing a little pink cushion at the corner of the room. There was a pile of bones there, old and yellowed but not quite decaying—Marco made sure of that the day he’d found them. He’d been studying all kinds of things in relation to bones after he discovered his powers, how to clean them, how to care for them, how to use them.

Marco smiled a little as he looked at the pile from his place on the couch. With a little wave of his hand, the skull rose up, connected to the spine. The jaw opened and shut, as if the animal was making a sound, before a dainty, bony paw moved to the floor before the bed.

“Come here, Hypnos,” Marco cooed to the cat, wiggling his fingers invitingly and urging her closer.

He’d found Hypnos not long after discovering his powers. She’d once been his beloved black cat when he was a kid, and now she was his familiar of sorts. As she dug her paws into his forearm and crawled up onto his chest, Marco wondered again how her bones held together, how she moved and lived.

Of course, she wasn’t really alive. As Levi had once explained to Marco, his powers didn’t bring things back to life. That was impossible—something even magic couldn’t achieve, no matter how powerful. Marco could only reanimate, manipulate dead flesh, decaying bones. He couldn’t bring anything back to life.

He petted Hypnos gently instead of lingering on the thought. It took him to dark places when he did.

The cat couldn’t purr—or hiss or meow or mewl—but Marco could imagine she was nonetheless as she curled up on his chest, spine rising and falling as if she were breathing peacefully. The sight had once brought a shiver to his own spine but now just made him calm.

He smiled a little, petting her and looking up at the ceiling. “Today was a rough day, girl…” he muttered softly, and she shifted as if in response to his voice. “But at least Armin is safe, huh?”

She opened her mouth again, wide, probably yawning, and Marco snorted. “Well, it’s good to me, you killjoy.” He sat up, and she slid to his lap, opening her mouth again as if to meow indignantly at him. “Sorry baby,” he said, picking her up gently and setting her down on the seat beside him. “Gotta go cook some sustenance.”

The kitchen wasn’t quite as messy as the rest of house (the result of a small fire that had scared Marco into keeping his kitchen as clean as possible), and that meant it looked almost empty. Cleaned dishes hidden away in every cupboard, carefully organized because Armin would throw a fit if he ever saw they were in disarray. Fridge full of little more than sharp cheddar and almond milk and the occasional snack. With his extra paychecks from working jobs for the staff at Runes, Marco had enough to get takeout most of the time. The evidence of that habit was pizza box after pizza box stuffed into a too small trashcan like files in a cabinet.

Marco looked around the kitchen. He’d intended to cook something, but there wasn’t exactly anything to cook. With a sigh he turned to look at Hypnos, sitting in the doorway and staring at him with empty eye sockets. She’d once had orange eyes and Marco could practically feel them piercing through him.

Marco considered her for a long moment and then said, “You want pizza, kitty?”

She opened her mouth again, and Marco decided that meant yes. “Some familiar you are,” he teased, a smile on his face as he walked past her, scratching at her skull. “You just want to eat me out of house and home.”

Marco swore she shrugged, but before he could be sure, she went traipsing after him as he made his way to the recliner, pulling his phone from his pocket. He let out an oomph as he plopped into the seat, immediately leaning back and getting comfortable before he lifted his phone and started to dial. He knew the local pizza place’s number by heart already (well that and it was a saved contact by then). He let out another oomph when Hypnos plopped onto his stomach.

As he lifted the phone to his ear, he wondered what kind he wanted—probably pepperoni; that was his usual—and hoped that it would come soon because he wasn’t in the mood for lazing about waiting for it to get to him.

But when he pressed the phone against his ear, he heard Armin’s voice instead of the dial tone.

 _Guess who’s got a job for you!_ Armin said, his voice unusually chipper.

Marco sighed and ended the call before anyone picked up. _This better be good, I was gonna order pizza._

Marco could practically hear Armin rolling his eyes. Armin wasn’t yet strong enough to send images without giving the recipient of his thoughts an ear-splitting headache, but he was sure he would have done so if he could. Instead Armin said, _Eat later, job now. It’s kind of urgent._

Marco closed his eyes, petting Hypnos absently and feeling the ridges of her spine against his palm. _Urgent as in extra rare, extra dangerous, or extra special customer?_ he asked, trying to imagine what it was Armin needed from him.

 _Special customer_ , Armin confirmed. _Offering a lot of money if we can get this to her right away._

Marco sighed at that. He knew Levi would be pissed if he didn’t take the job, even if it was his choice whether or not to take it. Sometimes he wondered why he even pretended he worked there only as a freelancer when he was at the whim and mercy of the trio of witches that owned the place.

He crossed his legs, almost pretending he wasn’t going to go to himself. Armin seemed to sense his feigned hesitance when he added, _It’s close to home and I’ll order you that pizza myself._

That got Marco to uncross his legs and set the phone down. _Extra large and it’s a deal._

Armin sighed deeply and went silent. Marco continued to pet his cat like some super villain as he waited patiently for Armin’s reply. Just as he went to cross his legs, he heard, _Fine, fine! Extra large pepperoni pizza. Fine. And yes, garlic rolls and a soda, I’ll get it all for you._

Marco was very pleased with his answer, but he didn’t move, asking instead, _So what’s the job? Close by?_

He knew something was up when Armin merely hummed in response. With a deep sigh, Marco crossed his legs. “Hypnos, how about I stay in all night?”

Hypnos snuggled closer to his leg whilst Armin said, innocently, _Quick question. Do you know what memory residue is?_

Marco rolled his eyes at Armin’s feigned innocent question. _Memory residue_ , he laughed. _Of course you’d send the necromancer to get the ingredient from dead bodies. That’s stereotyping._

Armin’s responding laugh was short and sarcastic, _Oh, ha, ha. Do you want that pizza or what?_

Marco snickered and gave Hypnos one last fond pat. “Okay I’m going, I’m going,” he sighed aloud, sitting up from his comfortable position in the recliner. “Come on, Hypnos, back to your bed.”

The skeletal cat nuzzled him one last time, the jagged edges of her hollow nasal cavity dragging at Marco’s shirt. But with an obedient click, she turned around and hopped off the couch towards her bed. With a snap of his fingers, Hypnos once again fell into a heap of bones.

 _Hey Marco…_ Armin’s voice murmured. Marco tilted his head as if trying to hear it better. _Just. Be careful all right? Remember what I told you earlier._

Marco remembered well. The threat of vampires lurked the alleys, searching for witches just like him… The memory of Armin’s unwavering gaze and trembling lips sent a shiver through him. _I’ll be all right, Armin. Promise._

* * *

The local cemetery was nothing new to Marco. Everything about it was familiar to him, from the pale flowers growing amongst the rich grasses, to the well-worn sign hanging from the rusted gateway. But somehow tonight Marco felt more wary than usual.

Armin’s warning still stuck in his head, and he worried with every step closer to the old plot that he would find himself face to face with something that he wasn’t prepared for. He had prepared of course—there was a necklace around his neck, a glass bottle filled with freshly chopped garlic at the end; he had rabbit’s feet hanging from his hip; and his whole body reeked with the freshness of a field of wildflowers, disguising the scent of blood and flesh from any prying noses. He even had a bag of black salt inside his backpack, for extra measure.

Marco tucked his necklace into his collar as he came up to the imposing gates of the cemetery. This late at night they were locked against trespassers, metal sign hanging heavily and threatening to fall any day now, as it had for years and years.

Marco wrapped one hand around a pole that he knew from experience wasn’t as loose as most of them were. He pulled at it to test that it would still hold firm before he swung his foot into a gap between the poles. He could always use a spell to unlock the gate he knew, or he could just pick the lock, but he preferred to go unnoticed. Breaking in would surely mean someone would be suspicious.

He pushed himself up, shimmying his hips to climb the pole before finally swinging his legs over the top. When he’d first started doing this, he remembered always forgetting to slide down the pole a bit so that he wouldn’t hit the ground so hard. Now when his feet sank into the mud, his bones didn’t ache and his knees didn’t buckle.

Inside the cemetery there was no scent of death but rather the feeling of it. The atmosphere hung heavy in the air, and Marco knew that he would only feel that he belonged there if he acted like he did. He stopped for a bit where he stood, surveying the cemetery around him.

The moon wasn’t quite full yet, but it still shone bright overhead, giving a faint white glow to the headstones and lush grass at Marco’s feet. Each headstone came to at least his hip, lined in perfect rows, a single, muddy pathway led up to the monastery at the very back of the yard. Marco had never been inside—not willing to force open the heavy doors without reason.

Marco looked at the gates shut tightly behind him and took a deep breath. Fear thrummed lightly beneath his skin, still wary of Armin’s warning. He’d fought vampires before, of course—but those were revenants, the ones that had gone mindless with bloodlust. They were clumsy, messy. They weren’t the precise hunters that a normal vampire was.

He pressed his hand over the bottle of garlic hiding beneath his shirt, as if to steady himself. It wasn’t a surefire protection--but he could break it quickly to dissuade any vampire attacking him. Garlic burned them like holy water.

He listened hard for the signs of an intruder, but all around him there was no sound of footsteps or movement, no mysterious crunch of leaves or squelch of mud. As far as he could tell he was alone—not even lights from windows shone on this street.

Having assured himself, he made his way to the center of the graveyard. His sneakers sunk into the mud a little with each step, and he was glad that the plot wasn’t on a hill like some Halloween-themed clip art. He’d once seen a cemetery drenched in flood-like downpour, bones washed up on the street below. The thought made him shudder to think about.

As he stepped into the center, he shook his head quickly of all thought, deciding this wasn’t the time or place for it. He had a job to do, and for the spell he had to perform, he couldn’t let himself become distracted.

Candle after candle he pulled from the backpack heavy against his spine, long and thin. He placed each in a careful circle around him and lit them along the way. His eyes glowed as he made a rune in the wet, loose dirt, muttering a quick, one-word spell to himself. Around him, the lights of the candles stopped flickering suddenly. He could no longer feel the wind on the exposed skin of his face.

After making sure again that every candle was well-lit and unwavering, he sat cross-legged in the mud, right over the rune he’d made. Steady breaths, one by one. His chest rose and fell to a slow, silent rhythm, and he closed his eyes to focus.

He hadn’t cast a memory spell in a long time—the effects of it always clung to him like unwanted seeds on his clothes. But this time, he had a job to do, so there was no way around it.

He kept his hands close to the ground on either side of him. Usually there was no need to use hands (in fact Armin often snickered when he watched Marco perform his magic). The mind was all that was needed to correctly perform a spell, but Marco found channeling the energy through his hands was much easier.

And he could already feel it working. The pulses of power, in sync with his heartbeat, traveling down through his veins like liquid electricity. He let them pool in his palms, facing parallel to the ground. He rolled his shoulders and let the images gather in his mind, visualizing the end goal.

“ _Memoria relictum_ ,” he breathed, his voice soft, beneath his breath. The power pulsed again, and he could feel it trickling through his fingertips.

He often imagined it as blue. A pale blue stream, flowing through his veins instead of blood. Piercing the cold, hard ground, flooding down into the graves of rotting bones. He heard his words as if from another body. “ _Vocate, adducam eos ad me_ ,” he said, and imagined the coffins rattling from inside. Imagined the bones coming to life, clawing at the roof of their caskets.

“ _Terram… Vocivus…_ ” His voice was beginning to take on a singsong kind of rhythm, and he felt the powers reaching a tipping point now, aching in his own bones.

The blue rivers poured forth from the open edges of the casket, energy now, in little balls that dug through the six feet of dirt between their graves and into the unnaturally still air.

Now he could feel their energy as well. He could feel them calling out to him, could feel them clinging to him. Memories that didn’t belong to him—memories that did. He could feel the heavy burden of thick, curly hair on the back of his neck; he could feel the tentative brush of a skirt along the back of his calves. His entire body tensed, his hands twitched—

He could feel the spell slipping from his grasp, the memories faltering in their upwards climb. He felt wind against his cheek, and hurriedly, his voice louder and less firm than before, he finished, “ _Exsero virtus_!”

Only once he felt the power stop—abrupt and snapping, like the squeak of a pipe handle pushed too far back, to ensure the water wouldn’t come back unless turned again—did he lift his hands. He was a composer, directing the memories into the air, where he’d see them once he opened his eyes.

He did so, and there they were in plain sight. Pale blue, ghostly orbs of light. Marco knew that if he were to touch them, he’d be able to see the memories contained within. Which was exactly what he needed to do.

Marco rose to his feet, the movement disturbing the perfect rune he’d made in the ground. It broke and the wind burst forth in full-force, tired of having been held back for so long. The lights on all the candles went out in one fell swoop, and he was cast in shadow again, only the moonlight illuminating his face and his way.

Marco recalled Armin’s orders on the way to the cemetery, what kind of memory the witch who’d ordered the ingredients needed and the preferred containment method. Marco had taken an old urn from home (empty, thankfully, just an old thing he’d bought at a flea market) and it rested, unwieldy, in his backpack now. Now that he’d cast the spell and had the container on hand, he just needed to find the right memory: one of loss.

Marco shuddered to think what she might need the memory for. There were many uses, different kinds of spells, and none of them—from his memory—were very chipper. Spells to affect emotions, steal them or change them. Spells to take away or manipulate.

One of the reasons Marco had decided against working for Runes was that he didn’t exactly agree with the kinds of customers they affiliated with. He remembered when he was but a fledgling witch, only having just discovered his powers, a much older witch had sneered at him in the waiting area of the parlor. “A necromancer?” she’d scoffed. “Hide your bones.”

Marco shrugged the memory away, studying the headstones of each grave he passed instead. It was easier to pick off certain graves, from their age alone. The youngest ones he skipped. Older bones were much more likely to remember loss after all.

Although he knew that wasn’t always true…

Seeing one that seemed sufficiently old, he turned to the orb floating at about chest height. Hopefully he’d found it in one hit—he knew the spell wouldn’t last too long and then he’d have to set it all up again. The mud on the seat of his pants made him more than a little averse to the idea of performing the spell again. As well as the memory of something a little looser wrapped around his hips.

Reaching his hand up, Marco let the memory flow up from his fingertips and into his brain. He took in a sharp breath as he remembered a memory that wasn’t his own.

_A pretty laugh. Long, blonde, flowing with the wind. Flowers braided throughout, like the hair of a pampered princess, and the glowing cheeks and shining smile to match._

Marco’s breath stuttered in his chest as the memories twisted.

_A deep, deep frown. Two slender hands clasped together, one tanned and freckled, the other pale and soft. Eyes sparkling with tears, color indeterminate. The hands ripped apart—_

Marco fell out of the memories with a gasp, as if he’d been underwater for a long time, unable to breathe. He panted for breath for a few moments, pulling himself from the liquid thoughts. The memory sat in the center of his palm now, its light dimmer than before, as if calmed.

He took one last deep breath before looking down at the headstone. He’d only looked at the age, not the names of the ones buried in the graves. He frowned even deeper when he saw the name of the one buried. Elizabeth. Now, he understood why the dainty hands had been torn apart.

He wished he could say learning who these people had once been was his least favorite part of it all. That it was the hardest part. But…

He kept the memory curled up in his palm as he used one hand to swing his backpack off. It hit the ground with a dull thud, not hard enough—he knew from experience—to break the urn inside. Balancing the bag between both of his feet, he hurriedly unzipped the bag and revealed the urn.

It was rather simple, a typical, sleek design, but the paint had chipped and left dark marks throughout the vase. Marco liked to think the chips added character. Instead of taking a moment to admire it, Marco set to work immediately, gently pulling up the cap and letting the memory slither from his palm and into the urn. He shut it before it could realize he’d let it go.

Job officially done, Marco stopped to take a breath. He leaned hesitantly back against Elizabeth’s headstone, only resting fully after finding it stable enough to hold his weight without falling into the mud.

Around him, the world was still very quiet. Like in the movies, he worried if it were too quiet—but the hush of leaves in the wind, the coo of an owl’s hooting, kept him at peace. He closed his eyes and let himself relax, tension melting from his body as if it had cooled into ice beneath his skin. He sighed aloud.

Cemeteries weren’t all that bad. He’d been to a few that were so beautiful they might as well have been called parks. But even small, cramped places like this had a kind of peacefulness to them that Marco had never felt anywhere else.

He thought briefly about how Armin or Levi might laugh at him. Tell him it was the necromancer in him that let him appreciate a place so morbid. He thought maybe they were right.

After a few minutes, Marco nodded once, firmly, and stood straight again. He swung his backpack back up over his shoulders and let it settle heavy against his spine before he made his way towards the gates of the graveyard. A quick, shimmying climb later, and he was well on his way down the street, a map of his path glowing in his mind’s eye.

He’d made the short trek to Runes from the cemetery quite a few times before—replacing stolen bones, collecting memories, quieting spirits. Each step he took was memorized. The walk to and from wasn’t complicated. It was made all the shorter by the promise of pizza and another paycheck waiting on the other end.

Still… As Marco walked, he could feel nerves crawling up his back. Every now and then he turned as if to make sure there was nothing following him. There wasn’t the crunch of footsteps behind him, nor was there the suspicious breath or heartbeat of another person, human or not.

Shivering a bit to himself as the breeze picked up, Marco turned back around and began to walk with a bit more urgency. The beat of his bag against his spine was less soothing and familiar now as it was a reminder for how fast he was walking. He tried to calm himself down, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he stopped at the corner to wait for the light to change.

His hand pressed into the rusted metal button that would activate the crosswalk. He focused on how it felt against his palm. Rough. Cold. His hands, calloused as they were, felt soft in comparison. He lifted his hand and met it with his other, ringing them round each other, once, twice. Felt the webbing between each finger. The knobs of his knuckles. The piano key like bend to each one. The nearly imperceptible indents and wrinkles of his skin.

He took a deep breath, and as he let it out, he felt his energy flowing. _A simple spell to let out the nerves_ , he thought to himself, and out of reflex began to whisper the first spell Armin had ever taught him. It was in a language he didn’t know. He couldn’t spell the words, only pronounce them. His lips opened around ohs, closed around ems, hissed around esses. A soft, small little spell for contentedness. Sometimes he wondered if Armin had made it up himself. The most powerful spells were often made by the one who first cast it after all.

Marco felt the energy of the quick spell dissipate from his fingertips, invisible in the cool night air, but vividly blue in his mind’s eye. He looked up, saw the light was changed, and looked both ways (left, right, left) before crossing the street. He was safe, alone.

He felt the scream before he heard it. It was a cold finger on his back. He stood ramrod straight and stared towards its source. The opening of an alley a few feet away. Right beside the turn towards Runes.

He caught the energy he’d let go of in an instant and began to run. The backpack slammed between his shoulder blades with every gasping step. There was another scream, and Marco only sped up.

He went over his inventory in his head: rabbit’s foot, bottle of garlic, a bag of black salt. He almost skidded to a stop as he realized the one thing he’d forgotten at home.

A weapon.

Marco kept going. This was perhaps the reason Armin worried enough to warn him of danger. Marco always wanted to help; Marco was never prepared to help.

The alley came up on him before he was ready for it. He skidded to a stop at the mouth. Silence crept at his feet. He could hardly see inside—the moonlight was cut off by the buildings on either side. Only the top of the building to his left was illuminated. He breathed in deeply, preparing himself to step through the boundary of the two brick apartment rises.

 _Armin_ , he thought. The scream he’d heard assured him there was someone in trouble, and the silence now only solidified it. Without a weapon he knew he’d need backup, and only Armin could get that for him now.

He couldn’t feel Armin’s consciousness as he carefully walked into the alley.

Every few, small steps, he called out again for Armin. Little by little, he felt him beginning to rise as if from slumber.

The alley was getting colder. There were brushes of sound. His footsteps, echoing. His breath and heartbeat mingling. There were no more screams.

He heard Armin’s voice. It was rough, grumpy from being woken. _What, what, what’s going on?_

Marco heard it then. The ragged breathing of something injured.

Or else, something rabid.

Like ice, Marco froze in place. _I need you to send Levi._

_Levi? Why? What’s going on?_

Marco swallowed and stared towards the sound of breathing. He quickly whispered the sight spell to himself—simple, two words, _ante visum_. He saw what was before him.

Hunched in the darkness, with skin pale as moonlight, a creature watched the curled up form of a man, shivering in terror. On first sight, it could almost be mistaken for human. But on second, the spine was too long. The skin looked stretched. Marco feared the sight of its face, and it hadn’t even turned around.

 _I’m in the alley between the bakery and the art shop_ , he thought. _There’s a revenant._

At that moment the creature finally noticed Marco. Marco himself hadn’t noticed taking a step back, but the revenant sitting hunched before him turned its head at the sound. Marco could see the sunken in eye. The hanging jaw, full of fangs and dried blood.

Marco turned and ran.

He could hear the thing screech behind him. He didn’t dare look back. The scraping sound of claws against the sidewalk was enough to tell him that it’d risen to its feet.

 _Are you kidding me!_ Armin’s voice suddenly shrieked, just as Marco made it to the mouth of the alley and whipped himself out of the way.

The revenant burst out of the alley with a bellowing shriek. Marco scrambled to keep running.

_And you’re not armed?_

_No, now are you sending Levi?_

_He’s on his way._ Marco heard the sound of metal screeching, and then crunching, and then there was the shatter of a streetlight. The road became darker. _Not even an athame, Marco?_

_I don’t believe in blood magic._

Armin’s outraged shriek was drowned out by the cry of the revenant behind Marco. Now knowing that Levi was on his way, Marco dared a glance back at the revenant running across the walls behind him.

Seeing it in all its hellish glory was a sight to behold. Its eyes were sunken and blind like a bat, and most of its face was taken up by monstrous fangs. Marco panted, holding back a scream as he whipped back around.

Stumbling footsteps, left, right. Now all that was left to do was run. Marco couldn’t breathe. He prayed for Levi to come soon.

The sound of scraping stone behind him, the outraged cry of the revenant—Marco’s steps stumbled. His hand brushed the ground as he righted himself, running faster.

The revenant was playing with him, like it usually did with its victims--like it had probably been doing with the man in the alley, before Marco interrupted. He’d faced them before—they couldn't be outrun. His only hope was to distract it before Levi came. Hope it wasn't getting tired of his game.

The ground shook as it landed heavily on the sidewalk again. Marco lost his footing at the rumble and fell face first into the rough ground.

He struggled to get to his feet, but the creature’s hand came down on him before he could. A claw caught in the top hook of his backpack and lifted him effortlessly off the ground.

Marco felt like a rag doll, easily manhandled. The creature turned him, studying his rosy cheeks and shining eyes. He breathed heavily, heart pounding in his chest.

_Marco? Marco say something! Fuck! Levi’s on his way Marco—_

Armin’s voice quickly became background noise as Marco’s eyes stared down into the empty gaze of the revenant. He’d promised Armin he’d be safe, but he hadn’t expected this. He wished he had something—anything—to buy him more time.

The revenant shrieked again, nightmarish teeth flashing in the mixed lights of the streetlamps and the moon. Marco felt blood fleck onto his face.

And suddenly, he was dropped back onto the ground.

It happened so fast that he couldn’t be sure what had happened, at least until he heard, “Fucking revenants,” mumbled somewhere behind the suddenly slumped figure of the monster.

Marco gaped as Levi put one foot on the back of the revenant, pulling at a stake going through its chest. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “Oh, my god, you saved my life.”

Levi shrugged, still struggling to pull the stake free. “You don’t have to call me god,” he joked, his voice so flat that Marco couldn’t be sure he actually was joking.

But he knew now wasn’t the time for trying to figure it out. The shock of almost dying faded quickly when he remembered the cowering man from the alley. His legs stumbled as he pushed himself to his feet, but he caught his balance quickly and started to run.

“Where are you going?” Levi called, just as Marco gasped, “The alley!”

Levi quickly caught up to him, still bloody stake dragging behind him. “Kid there are at least fifty alleys between the cemetery and Runes, you’re gonna have to be--”

“The revenant was playing with a human,” he panted, interrupting Levi.

He was struggling to remember which alley he’d found them in though. The sight spell was still up, making it easier to throw a cursory glance into each one he passed. Not that one, not that one, not--

That one.

He skidded to a stop and raised his hand to make Levi pause. “We’ll split up,” he whispered. “I’ll get his attention, and you knock him out?”

Levi gave him a critical look before nodding reluctantly. He knew Marco was too squeamish for knocking someone out anyway.

Marco looked back into the alley, at the small shape of a man curled against the wall and sobbing into his knees. Like listening to the old regrets of past souls, this was one of Marco’s least favorite parts of the job. Humans rarely survived being attacked by one of the many monsters of the world--often they were fatally wounded or outright killed.

But when they survived… When they survived there was only one way to deal with them, and that one way never was guaranteed to work.

Marco dreaded it as he walked deeper into the alley. “Hey…” he whispered, his voice soft in the darkness.

He was glad he could see--but the human looked up wildly, whipping his head back and forth in search of the disembodied voice. “W-who’s there!” he shouted.

Marco grimaced, searching for a response that would soothe him. It’d be easier to knock him out if he were already relaxed, after all.

“It’s all right, I’m not going to hurt you,” he tried. The man didn’t seem so convinced, his breathing picking up. Marco was still too far to make out his expression. “The monster is dead now. You’ll be all right.”

The man’s breathing calmed the slightest bit. He watched as the man rose to his feet, trembling as he did. Marco could hear his footsteps now. “M-monster?” he asked. Marco could feel the fear in his voice like a chilly finger down his spine. “W-what… what was that thing?”

Marco wasn’t sure how to respond. Lie? Tell him he didn’t know what it was?

His conscience begged him be truthful, and he couldn’t help it when he opened his mouth and said, “It’s called a revenant. It’s like a vampire except--”

“L-like a vampire?” the man gasped. “That’s--that’s ridiculous, vampires aren’t--wait…”

It was then that the two of them came face to face. Marco felt his breath stop and his eyes widen in horror. Those eyes… That nose…

“M-Marco?” Jean breathed, looking as horrified as Marco felt. “You… What… What’re you…”

“Jean,” Marco gasped, stumbling back from him. “Oh my god--”

It almost looked like Jean wanted to say more, but without warning his eyes widened and then drooped as he swayed and fell backward. Levi caught him as he fell, limp in his arms, and then looked up at Marco with an unimpressed expression. “I take it you two know each other?”

Marco didn’t know how to respond. His mouth opened and shut as he searched for an answer, but Levi just shook his head and hauled Jean’s body over his shoulder. “Come on, we’ve gotta get back to the shop.”

It was then that Marco found his voice, hurrying after Levi as he gasped, “He knows me. We see each other every day, Levi, he’s a regular-- Levi, listen to me!”

Levi only spared a glance back at him, raising a single eyebrow, his calmness a stark contrast to Marco’s rising panic. “Erwin’s magic is stronger than any of ours,” Levi said simply before turning back around and walking ahead.

* * *

Marco knew that Levi was right--he always was. It was only a few minutes later that they all sat in the chairs and tables set about the parlor, waiting in silence as Erwin cast the memory charm that would erase this night from Jean’s mind.

Armin sat beside Marco, and although Marco was only looking at his hands in his lap, he could feel Armin staring holes into his head, digging through his brain. He wondered if he was finding much. After all, Marco could only think about what was happening in the back room. Was Jean still knocked out? Was the charm taking affect yet? What kind of memories was Erwin replacing Jean’s true ones with?

Would Jean remember what he’d experienced when he woke up safe in bed and all alone?

Marco shuddered to think that he would. If he did, what would happen then?

 _It does no good to worry about it_ , Armin’s voice suddenly whispered between Marco’s ears.

Despite himself, Marco shivered. He looked up at Armin and answered silently back, _Tell that to the anxiety._

In another circumstance, Armin might have snickered. But this time he just turned away. Marco did as well, and avoided Levi and Hanji’s questioning gazes.

It wasn’t until the stars were already beginning to fade in the night sky that Erwin finally exited the back room. Marco was nearly half asleep by then, but he immediately sat ramrod straight as he felt Erwin’s aura flood through the room.

Erwin had a cold presence. Like a liquid, it filled every crevice of whatever room he stood in. It came with being as old as he was--at least a few centuries though none of them could be sure exactly how many.

Marco hated the feeling of it. The man himself wasn’t so bad, but the feeling of cold hands climbing his spine like a rope whenever he entered a room…

Marco got straight to the point, not waiting for Erwin to begin his report. “What’s going on?” he asked, rising from his seat, arms crossed over his chest. “Is he okay? Did the charm work? Will it last even if--”

Erwin turned his gaze to him, and Marco felt the ice chill his rib cage. He could feel Erwin digging in him, the same way Armin did when he was reading his mind--but this always felt more invasive. Analyzing everything Marco was feeling, calculating the meaning.

But--perhaps sensing Marco’s unease--he looked to Armin. “I’d like you to find his address. Levi and Hanji will take him home.” It was then he looked at Marco again, but this time his eyes were soft. “I repeated the spell a few times, focusing on memories of you. He’ll have quite the headache in the morning… but I doubt he’ll remember seeing you tonight.”

“How’d… What’d you replace it with?” Marco felt himself asking. He wished he hadn’t, knowing Armin was now giving him a strange look.

Erwin just smiled. “A party. Fitting for a college student yes?”

Marco nodded solemnly, before stepping back. “Then… I’m gonna get home. I’ll see you guys later,” he said as he grabbed his backpack from the seat behind him and walked away.

He didn’t get far down the sidewalk before he heard Armin running after him. “Marco!” he called, but Marco didn’t stop.

He hunched his shoulders, as if he could shield himself from Armin’s prying presence. He could only imagine what Armin wanted to say. Why are you so worried, he’s just a human, you’re overreacting--

“I know why you’re freaking out so much,” Armin just said.

Marco didn’t know why he turned--maybe it was because Armin always knew what to say to catch him off guard. “And why is that?”

Armin wasn’t smiling. In fact, he seemed frustrated. “It’s because he’s part of your ‘normal’ life.”

Marco took a deep breath and turned on his heel to continue walking home. “Marco!” Armin called again, but this time he didn’t run after him. “You can’t lie to me; I know what you’re thinking!”

“I’m thinking you owe me a pizza!” Marco yelled back instead of acknowledging what he’d said. “And a margarita!” He paused and turned back to Armin, smiling a little bit now. “And not one of those cheap juice bag ones, I mean a bowl of tequila with some lime juice in it.”

Armin smiled too and rolled his eyes as he hurried after Marco. “You’re such an alcoholic,” he laughed as he and Marco began to walk side by side.

But even as he smiled, Marco couldn’t deny the nagging worry still at the back of his mind. That Jean would see him the next day and be struck with recognition… After all, memory charms were never guaranteed, even if someone as old and practiced as Erwin performed it.

And even if the charm did work, there was so much else to worry about. What about the revenant? What about the vampires Armin had warned him about? This was just more evidence that something was going on, something dangerous and too close to home, and Marco frankly wasn’t prepared for it.

The anxiety swirled like a knot in his intestines.

“Marco,” Armin muttered, and Marco glanced over at him. He was looking straight ahead but turned his head to give Marco a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. We’ve got three badass older witches on our side. Everything is going to be fine.”

Marco wished he could believe him. He gave him a feigned smile, and even if Armin knew that he didn’t believe it, it was nice to pretend.

* * *

Monday mornings were always busiest. Everyone seemed to need a pick me up for the rest of the week, and Marco was run ragged, grinning at everyone who entered, taking orders and then rushing back to help the available baristas before someone stepped in line to order once again. At some point he went on autopilot, and the faces became a blur.

Until he walked in.

Marco had been bracing for him since he woke up and headed to work. Even if Erwin’s spell had worked, and all Jean could remember was blacking out after a wild party, why would he not come in the next morning like he always did, rain or shine?

Still, Marco’s expression faltered just a bit when he heard his voice. He plastered on his smile and hurried to the register. “Hey Jean, same as usual right?”

Jean nodded, studying the display of treats as Marco quickly put in the order. “All right, just swipe your card,” Marco said, hoping his voice didn’t sound suspiciously nervous.

Jean looked up and for a brief moment met his eyes. Marco wished his special ability was freezing time, so he could really study Jean’s gaze. He wished he had some way of making sure he wasn’t just imagining things when he saw the flash of recognition in Jean’s eyes.

Jean paused, effectively freezing the moment himself, until someone behind him in line cleared their throat--whether out of necessity or to get Jean to hurry up, it didn’t matter. Jean quickly ducked his head and paid, taking his receipt with a sheepish nod as he went to the bar to wait on his order.

Marco swallowed hard and continued taking the orders of everyone else in line, trying to push his doubt to the back of his mind. It couldn’t be true. Erwin was a master witch. Centuries of practice did that to a person. He’d promised Marco that the charm would work--Marco had to trust that he was right.

Right?

Despite his fraying thoughts, Marco was efficient, pouring coffee, steaming milk, twisting between the other baristas to get everyone’s order done. He set Jean’s sandwich down before him and a moment later someone else set out his coffee.

Pretty soon, Marco was on autopilot, his doubts unable to reach him until Ymir noted the lack of customers and sent Marco on his lunch break.

Marco collapsed into his seat in the break room, knowing he should gather his stuff and run the errands he’d neglected this weekend. Between searching for Levi’s missing tarot cards, Armin’s long awaited return, and everything that had happened after, he’d decided buying new trash bags and replacing the curtains Hypnos had destroyed could wait.

But he heard Armin’s voice enter his head before he’d even properly sat down. _Hey, just checking in!_

Marco smiled to himself. _Sure you are. I could feel you digging around while I was working._

_Can you blame me?_

_In fact I can, nosy._

Armin snorted, and Marco hid a laugh. _Okay, okay I’m nosy, is that such a crime?_

_Actually--_

_Don’t answer that._

_What are you in my head for, Armin?_

Armin went quiet for a moment at that, and Marco decided he really should get off his ass and do those errands before his trash can started to overflow. He stood up and started to gather his stuff, peeling off his uniform apron and stuffing it in his locker.

It was as he was walking out to his car that Armin started to speak again. _Sorry, talking to Hanji, anyway! I heard what happened with Jean… you don’t think he_ actually _remembers you, do you?_

Even in his head, Armin always had a way of sounding perfectly condescending. Marco rolled his eyes, tossing his bag in the back of his car and then leaning against the door. He never was good at talking to Armin while driving, so he knew he had to end this conversation before trying. _Look, all I know is what I saw. He looked like he recognized me. I don’t know if he remembers everything but I--_

“Um… Marco?”

Marco whipped around in horror at the familiar voice. “Jean!” he fairly squeaked, blushing bright red at the high pitch of his voice.

Jean stood behind him, something clutched in his hands--a Starbucks bakery bag. Armin started to shout in Marco’s head, asking what was going on, why was Jean talking to him, did he want him to get in Jean’s head too?

Marco wanted to slap Armin out of his head, but he just forced a smile at Jean. “Hey! S-sorry, you surprised me…”

Jean looked nervous, and Marco tried to believe it wasn’t because he remembered Marco from the night before. Maybe it was because they never spoke outside of work? Maybe it was even because he found Marco attractive?

Not matter how unlikely, Marco wanted desperately to believe it.

Jean couldn’t seem to look at him, glancing left and right and tilting his head up as if to hide his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just… I know this is really weird, I mean we’ve never talked before… And I know we don’t really know each other well, I mean you’re just my barista--”

 _Wow, he’s real smooth_ , Armin finally said in a flat voice, and Marco narrowed his eyes at him, before smoothing his expression and hoping Jean didn’t notice.

He probably hadn’t, looking now at his shoes. “But I… since last night I’ve been--”

“What about last night?” Marco gasped, before catching himself. He wished he could swallow his own tongue, just barely holding himself back from slapping himself.

Jean finally looked up and met his eyes at that. He looked mesmerized, eyes wide and mouth hanging open before he finally shook his head and shut his lips. “I have no idea,” he whispered. “I mean… I guess I got really wasted at this party, but… last night I woke up and just… I kept thinking about… about you.”

In other circumstances, Marco might have blushed. But now he just turned pale. “Oh?” he asked, ignoring Armin’s snickering in his head. “What about me?”

Jean bit his lip, and finally shoved the bag in his hands at Marco. Marco flinched back but took the bag in a ginger grasp. “Oh!” he gasped.

“Doyouwannagoonadatemaybe?” Jean muttered, too fast for Marco to make out a word.

“I um--what?” he stuttered.

Jean’s face was turning bright red, and his hands were fidgeting at his sides. “Do you want to go on a date with me… maybe?”

Marco did turn red this time. He blinked rapidly in surprise, and looked down at the bag in his hands. “A… A date?”

Jean started to back away, shoving his hands in his pocket. “U-uh, my roommates are going on a road trip for Halloween, but I’ve got a major test so I decided to stay home, and like--I mean it’s going to be empty and really lonely, and I was wondering--I thought maybe we could--”

Marco’s head was spinning. He didn’t know how to respond. _NO_ , his mind automatically supplied, and he could hear Armin choking in disbelief, but…

But maybe this could be a good thing?

Maybe going on a date with him could be a way to test the memory charm. If they spent hours together, and Jean didn’t remember anything, then the charm was fine… And Marco wouldn’t have to worry about it failing one day at work, in front of all those people.

 _Are you kidding me?_ Armin gasped in Marco’s head. _Marco as your friend, it’s my job to tell you when you’re being a fucking idiot. You’re being a fucking idiot!_

Marco looked up at Jean, eyes searching his. Looking for a sign that this could be the worst decision he ever made. After all… if the charm failed, what would they do when Jean recognized him? It wasn’t necessarily illegal for a human to know about witches, but it wasn’t smiled upon either. And a human with knowledge of magic, and no way to protect themselves…

But Marco’s lips seemed to move on their own.

“Yes,” he whispered, voice as small as his confidence in saying it. He cleared his throat and said again. “Um, yes.”

Jean’s eyes went wide. Armin screamed in his head.

“For real?” Jean gasped, and he took a step towards Marco again, hands leaving his pockets to grab Marco’s. “I didn’t totally creep you out? Holy shit. That’s awesome!”

Marco couldn’t help but smile at how excited he seemed. He didn’t pull his hands out of Jean’s grasp. “For real. Um… y-you can come pick me up? I’ll text you the address.”

Jean nodded, staring at Marco with a grin on his face. He stayed that way for a second until Marco cleared his throat. “I um… I don’t have your number yet, Jean,” he whispered.

“Oh!” Jean ripped his hands away and scrambled for his phone. Marco calmly reached for his own.

They exchanged numbers, and then Marco told Jean he had to go run some errands before his break was up. It wasn’t until Marco found himself at a red light, Armin long since having given up talking sense into him, that he finally looked in the bag Jean had given him.

A muffin. Marco took a bite and smiled before the light turned green.


	2. Protection

_ Marco, on the long list of awful ideas you’ve had, this is easily in like the top fifteen. _

Marco looked at himself in the mirror as he stood in the shower, twisting his neck to check that he’d gotten all the blood off of his back. Even in light of the vampire apocalypse (as Hanji had described it earlier, much to Levi’s chagrin), there were still jobs to be done. He’d cut work today to get rid of a poltergeist, and it had done quite a number on his back.

He wasn’t paying attention to Armin’s nagging in his head. After all, it was Friday now, and he had a date to get ready for.

_ Are you talking about the date or the outfit I picked out? _ Marco asked, his inner voice cheekier than usual.

Armin didn’t sound amused though.  _ I can’t see your outfit, ya twit. _

Marco smiled and replied,  _ So definitely the outfit then. _

He knew Armin was really annoyed when he started throwing out the lame, condescending name-calling bit. Despite himself, Marco couldn’t help making fun of him when he was in that mode.

_ UGH! _ was Armin’s only reply, as Marco finished rinsing off the last of the blood.

He watched it wash down the drain for a moment, disappear from view. It had been just another job. At least there hadn’t been any vampires.

But…

He sat on the edge of the tub, turning off the shower head. The scratch of nails at the door made him smile a bit, and he got up just to let Hypnos in. She liked the sound of the shower, always itching to get inside when she heard it. He guessed it was soothing or something. She hopped up on the edge of the tub as Marco took a place on the toilet seat.

Watching her look around as if searching for the water helped him settle his own thoughts.

The poltergeist he’d just finished off that day was just part of the job. Part of the deal that came with being a witch. Especially one whose “Inheritance”, as Erwin called it, leaned toward the dead and macabre.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about what it’d be like for a human to be suddenly thrust into it all. Sure, he’d been that way once too, three or so years ago when he’d first discovered his powers. Lost and scared. At least he’d had Armin--as much of an amateur as he’d been back then--to guide him somewhat.

But he didn’t like thinking about that. Even facing off against a vengeful ghost that threw a block of knives at his face couldn’t compare to the horror he’d felt the day he’d discovered there was a whole world he didn’t know about. A whole world he was now a part of.

He couldn’t imagine what Jean would feel.

He’d have no one. He’d have no powers and no idea what was going on. Once a human knew, they would notice. They’d see things they couldn’t before, feel things they hadn’t before. The presence of a monster would no longer be a vestigial itch at the base of their spine; the wind of magic would go inside them instead of over their heads.

They’d never be the same. And they would have no way of protecting themselves.

_ You know, Erwin said it used to be customary practice to kill a human that discovered a witch instead of trying a memory charm. _

_ I’m not killing him. _

_ I’m just mentioning it. In case the date goes badly. Which it probably will. _

Marco sighed heavily and looked at the clock hanging up on the back of the door. He still had at least an hour until Jean arrived to pick him up. He looked down at his bare legs for a long moment before sighing and deciding he might as well shave or something. Maybe most guys didn’t do that--but old habits were hard to break.

_ You’re ignoring me. _

Marco grimaced as he dragged out the dusty-by-now razors from where they were hiding behind his meds in the mirror cabinet.  _ Aren’t you my best friend? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, more supportive? _

_ I’m your best friend, and as your best friend it’s my job to be frank with you. _

_ I mean, I haven’t had a boyfriend since like sixth grade! _

I _ was your boyfriend in sixth grade. _

_ Yeah I know, it was awful. _

Marco smiled when he heard Armin snort. He knew he’d come around after a little bit of banter. It always worked.

_ All right. All right, it  _ is _ pretty cool. My little Marco finally has a date after all these years. _

_ I’m like a foot taller than you. _

_ Little baby Marco. So precious and innocent. So cute. _

Marco rolled his eyes as he sat down and studied his legs. It had been a while since he last shaved, but it wasn’t hard once he got started. His hands somehow instinctively remembered which places were sensitive and which needed a harder touch to get just right. Years of his mother showing him the ropes. He smiled when he thought about her.

But it didn’t last long when Armin asked,  _ But… in all seriousness Marco… what if the memory charm fails? What will you do? _

Maco bit his lip and focused on shaving instead of answering. But Armin stayed quiet and left his presence in Marco’s mind, making sure he couldn’t be ignored. Finally Marco sighed and said,  _ We’ll… we’ll just protect him. I mean, that’s a witch’s job isn’t it? Protect the greater good? _

Armin laughed.  _ Marco, we’re witches, not superheroes. _

Marco looked at Hypnos, who’d lain down on the edge of the tub, head tilted up to look at the showerhead as if expecting it to rain again soon. “I know. But… we’ve got morals, don’t we?” he said aloud. “I know… even if Erwin doesn’t want to, Hanji will convince him. And I mean, if Hanji convinces him, then we all know Levi will follow along--he does whatever Erwin wants.”

His voice sounded bitter, and he couldn’t help regretting it. Armin said nothing. Marco hung his head.  _ I… I don’t want him to remember any more than you do… _

_ Then why don’t you just cancel the date? I mean. If he remembers then he’s going to go through hell, regardless of whether we help him or not. And if he doesn’t? Well, what will you do, just tell him you don’t want to see him anymore? Either way, he’s not going to be happy. Isn’t that what you want? You want him to be happy? _

_ I… _

_ Or do you just want him to be normal? _

Marco’s fingers trembled around the razor before dropping it on the toilet seat so he could hang his head in his hands instead. Hypnos looked up and opened her mouth as if meowing in question. Marco fought the tears budding in his eyes, staring down at the toilet seat between his bare legs. It wasn’t fair--he couldn’t lie to Armin, or justify his doubts when Armin was right there, digging through his brain.

Of course he wanted Jean to be normal. Normal was safe. Normal  _ was _ happy.

Marco wasn’t normal. Even before he’d discovered he was a witch, he’d never been normal, and look what that had brought him?

_ Marco, no, don’t think like that. Marco? Don’t do that to yourself. You know what happens when you do... _

Marco sniffled and looked up, knowing that he didn’t want to go there. Not today. Not now.  _ Armin… just… let me make my own decisions okay? I’m an adult. I’m  _ older _ than you. I can make my own decisions. _

Armin sighed softly.  _ I know… I’m sorry I’m such a worrywart. _

Marco smiled a bit.  _ Yeah. That’s my job, you dork. _

_ Yeah, yeah. All right. I gotta go anyway. _

Marco nodded.  _ All right. I’ll talk to you later. _

He sniffed one more time and blinked rapidly to keep the tears from dripping out. He slapped his cheeks, opening his eyes wide and looking at Hypnos who meowed silently again in question.

“What am I doing, girl?” he asked her, but didn’t give her a chance to respond. Instead he stood up and turned the tap on, sitting on the edge so he could finish shaving. “I mean, it’s not like we’re going to have sex,” he muttered. She jumped into the tub, splashing in the water. “And I’m wearing skinny jeans, so he’s not going to even see my legs.”

Hypnos made no reply, rolling over onto her spine to kick her legs at the faucet instead. Marco couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re no help,” he muttered, reaching down to tickle her sternum. She meowed again. Marco’s smile stayed.

He didn’t spend too much time getting ready after that. The only thing that took as long as shaving had was deciding where to put his athame. It--along with the black and yellow daisy printed sweater he was wearing--had been a gift from Armin. Marco never would have bought one on his own.

It looked nice, decorative, something Armin had chosen specifically so it’d look like an accessory that Marco would wear more often.

The fact that it was sharp enough to pierce flesh at the slightest hint of force meant Marco didn’t wear it as an accessory all that often anyway.

But after his encounter a few nights before, Marco was loath to leave home without it. He’d shrunken it a few times to hide it on his keychain or as a pin on his shirt. But unshrinking it required another spell that made him loath to try it again. After all, Jean had been targeted by a revenant for some reason or another… Marco wanted to have a ready weapon in case it happened again.

As much as he shuddered to think…

He twirled the athame between his hands, looking at Hypnos who was now resting lazily on the coffee table. “I have to do it, don’t I?” he muttered.

She stared at him, unblinking.

With a heaving sigh, Marco rose to his feet and shrugged off his sweater, revealing the plain white t-shirt beneath. At least he’d gone with a plain one, so it wouldn’t look too out of place. Closing his eyes, Marco took a deep breath and began to chant.

“Arma consuti,” he murmured and whispered it again, again. The blue light began to creep from the lines of his palms. Engulfing the athame in his hands. He let it go as if dropping it, but the blue light caught it, holding it easily in mid air.

Marco kept up the chant as he turned his hands, aiming the athame towards his heart. “Filum,” he began to whisper instead. He kept his eyes shut--he’d learned the hard way that opening his eyes could break the spell too soon.

“Filum consuti, arma consuti…”

He clenched his hands into fists, as if grabbing the handle tight, and with one last deep breath, stabbed the athame towards his chest.

The first few times he’d done the spell, he’d ended up with the tip of a knife embedded in his chest. He’d ruined quite a few shirts that way.

But this time, as he pushed, the athame only sank into his shirt, turning to thread and weaving itself through the fabric, until finally he opened his eyes to see a new design in the front of his shirt--a perfect replica of the athame.

He grimaced. “Aww,” he muttered. “It’s off center.”

He looked at Hypnos, contemplating whether or not he should pull it out and try again, but before he could decide, there was a knock at the door.

Marco nearly leapt out of his skin, looking at the clock in a panic--only two minutes until Jean said he would arrive. Clearly he was early.

“Just a second!” Marco called, hurriedly pulling his sweater over his head.

The knocking continued as if Jean hadn’t heard him, and Marco found himself stumbling to the door, struggling to pull the sweater on. “Just a moment!” he called, but his voice was muffled by the thick sweater. He reached the door just as it finally popped over his head, and reached to answer it--

Before hearing the click of Hypnos’s paws against the wooden floorboards. He looked at her in horror, his hand already turning the knob. If Jean saw her, he would flip his shit--and worse, he’d know, he’d remember--

“I’m so sorry,” he mouthed, and knowing it at least wouldn’t hurt her, picked her up with one hand and threw her across the room.

The other hand opened the door to Jean, standing stiff on the walkway leading to Marco’s apartment. There was a bouquet of flowers in his hands. He looked excited, if nervous, but the expression changed to confusion when he heard the clattering of bones behind Marco.

“D-did you hear that--”

Marco stepped between Jean and the door, locking and shutting it behind him. “Hear what?” he asked, smiling as if nothing had happened.

Jean looked at him in confusion, before blushing and shaking his head. “Ah… it’s probably nothing. I’ve been hearing weird shit all day…” He bit his lip but seemed to brighten as he noticed the flowers in his hands. “I um. I brought you a bouquet.”

He shoved it at Marco in much the same way as he had shoved the muffin at Marco the Monday before. Marco took it in a gentle grasp. “Thank you,” he said, smiling as he studied each one. He was touched--no one had ever gotten him flowers before. He decided to ignore the irony that Jean seemed to have accidentally bought him a funeral bouquet in his rush.

Jean cleared his throat, still looking very nervous. “S-so, um… I cooked dinner and stuff so… you wanna get going?”

Marco looked up at Jean, holding the flowers against his chest. It was just hitting him now that this was really happening. He was going on a date.

He could tell himself it was for safety, to be sure, to keep an eye on Jean as much as he wanted. Somewhere deep down, he’d been excited to go on a date for the first time since middle school, but now, his heart was in his throat and aching with horror.

He would fuck something up. He’d say something weird. Jean would remember what he really was.

_ Marco _ , Armin’s voice suddenly whispered. Marco shouldn’t have been surprised--he’d known somewhere deep down that Armin was hanging around. But he smiled nevertheless when Armin said,  _ You’re going to be fine. _

Marco nodded at Jean and said, “Let’s go.”

 

It wasn’t a bad set up. The living room was pretty spacious at least, with doors leading off into the three separate bedrooms, and a doorway leading into a kitchen. Marco had snuck a glance inside, but Jean had hurriedly rushed him away, claiming dinner was a “surprise.”

“Sorry it’s such a mess,” Jean muttered, clearing a spot for Marco to sit on the wide, lumpy green couch. “Nobody in this apartment can clean the fuck up after themselves.”

Marco couldn’t help but snicker, looking back at Jean who disappeared into the kitchen. “Not even you?”

There was a beat, and then Jean leaned back through the doorway and said with a smirk on his face, “Definitely not me.”

Marco laughed and went back to looking around the living room. A wooden coffee table, covered in video game cases and textbooks. One was clearly about math, another some sort of science. The one that stood out to him though was what seemed to be a veterinary anatomy textbook. He wondered what classes Jean’s roommates took, their major. What they were like at all.

Only now was he realizing how little he actually knew Jean. Knowing his usual breakfast order was a lot different than knowing his friends, his family--even the rest of his morning routine.

“All right!” Jean exclaimed suddenly, pulling Marco out of his melancholic thoughts. He looked up to find Jean coming towards him with two big bowls of… ramen?

Marco raised his eyes at them. It wasn’t just bowls of microwaved ramen, it seemed. There were fresh vegetables and meat inside and it gave off a vaguely nutty aroma. He took it in gently between both hands and sighed at the warmth. It was as if he hadn’t even noticed the cold until then. “Thank you…” he murmured. He looked up at Jean and laughed when he saw the chopsticks being pushed in his face. “Thank you. It looks amazing!”

Jean looked more than a little pleased with himself. He shrugged and brushed imaginary lint off his shoulder. “I know. I only slaved over a hot oven for like four hours.”

Marco raised an eyebrow, smirking to himself. “Ramen takes like three minutes.”

Jean scoffed, but the mirth in his eyes told Marco he was far from actually insulted. “The gall!” He stood up then, setting his bowl on the coffee table, in a strategically made circle within the video game cases. “I actually got a bit of a surprise though… You drink?”

Marco couldn’t help but be intrigued at that. “Is that really a question?” he asked, biting his lip around a giggle.

Jean snorted, walking towards the kitchen and calling behind him, “Is that so? Well you always struck me as the innocent librarian type.”

Marco snorted. “I don’t even read,” he admitted. His face turned red at the confession. It wasn’t that he didn’t like reading. He’d never had the time for it, studying furiously to get into the college of his dreams, and then after discovering his powers, training them and hunting monsters for quick cash. Reading for fun got lost in all that.

“No reading huh?” Jean called from the kitchen. He came out with a wine bottle of something pink and bubbly and two glasses. “So what do you do for fun?”

Marco took a wine glass in one hand, studying the delicate stem instead of looking up at Jean as he answered. “Um, I… watch movies. A lot of movies.”

That at least was true, even if it was a bit of a white lie. He could count on one hand how many times he’d watched a movie without getting interrupted midway through.

“Aha!” Jean exclaimed, making Marco jump and look over at him in surprise. Jean just winked at him. “A segue,” he explained, setting the wine bottle down and digging through the video game cases. “I have Hulu, if you wanna watch something?” His voice went down to a whisper. “I also have Netflix, but it’s technically Eren’s account, and he won’t be happy if I watch something without his permission so…” He looked up at Marco, pulling the remote out of its hiding place. “Hulu is okay?”

Marco couldn’t help the soft smile spreading across his face. He suddenly thought… maybe this could be nice. Watching a movie with Jean, eating fancy ramen, and drinking whatever this pink alcohol was called. No interruptions.

Marco nodded, smiling wider now. “It’s perfect.”

Jean grinned, fiddling with the remote as he navigated to his Hulu account. “All right, so. We’ve got food. We’ve got drinks. We’ve got TV.” He reached behind them and pulled a blanket off the backrest of the couch. “We’ve got blankets. Am I missing anything?”

Marco shyly pulled his feet up under him, setting his glass down and grabbing his bowl of ramen. “Unless you have romantic candles, I don’t think we’re missing a thing.”

Jean chuckled, saying, “I could get you candles, but that’s another thing Eren would kill me for. He’s neurotic man.”

“Sounds like it. Why does he hate candles?” Marco asked.

Jean finally got onto his Hulu profile and began flicking through some movies and TV shows. Marco saw a lot of comedies and a few action flicks. Despite how little he knew Jean, he couldn’t help but think it fitting. “It’s so dumb,” Jean chuckled, in answer to Marco’s question. “He claims the smell never goes away or something. Like they’re not even scented candles man.” Jean sighed and smiled tiredly at Marco. “Anyway, what are you in the mood for? Movie-wise I mean…”

Marco bit his lip around a laugh at the way Jean’s face reddened. “I’m up for anything,” he assured. He didn’t want to admit he really just wanted to sit there next to Jean for a while, whether they watched anything or not, didn’t want to sound overly invested. After all, this was only a first date--

And probably a last, if everything went well…

But Marco tried to shake his head of the thought. Whether it was the last or not, Jean deserved his full attention. Besides… he wanted to try to have fun at least.

“How about The Blair Witch Project?” Jean suggested. When Marco looked up, he found that Jean was already looking at the summary. “A classic Halloween horror flick, right?”

Marco couldn’t help thinking how ironic it was that Jean had chosen a witch themed movie right from the get-go. What next? Bewitched? Hocus Pocus? Surely this was Levi levels of ironic humor.

But he smiled at Jean and said, “You’re not just choosing a horror movie so I’ll cling to you in fear, huh?”

Jean blushed and snorted. “Aww, come on, it’s only the first date! I’m not that sleazy.”

Marco snickered, settling back against his seat. “All right, but I should warn you, I’m not very squeamish.” He wiggled his brows at Jean. “So I might tease you if you have to back out.”

Jean rolled his eyes, but it was accompanied by a smile that told Marco the teasing would be more than welcome. Marco felt warm inside at the thought, and he still had yet to eat any of his ramen or even drink the alcohol.

It wasn’t like that for long though. Jean put on the movie and poured them both a glass of the drink, describing it as rosé. Marco couldn’t understand the explanation of what it was all that well, but it tasted sweet and Marco found himself with a refill or two before long.

“Tell me about your roommates,” Marco asked softly after his second refill, pinching a vegetable between his chopsticks. They weren’t paying attention to the movie. Marco found he didn’t quite mind.

Jean turned towards him legs crossed beneath him and bowl in his lap. “Well...  I’ve got two. Eren, the asshole, and Delmar, the weird one. Who should I start with?”

Marco chewed thoughtfully, weighing the options. “Eren,” he finally decided. “I might as well get the whole story right?”

Jean’s eyes lit up like stars, and he set his bowl down. “Good, because ranting about Eren is my favorite past time.”

Marco giggled, and somehow Jean seemed to smile even wider before diving into a long-winded rant. “He gets super territorial over the dumbest shit? He literally put tape down around his room to separate our stuff. And he hates when people don’t clean up after themselves, but he hates cleaning up. And he’s super fucking hairy--the hairballs I pull out of the drain are  _ reprehensible _ .”

“Ew!”

“You’re telling me! And he eats like a fucking animal, and he eats  _ everything _ . Everything! He took a whole luggage full of food on this road trip of his--they’re only going to be gone three days! And, and, sometimes! When he gets back from a party all drunk he’ll literally like howl at the moon. Like, how fucking extra can you get?”

Marco found himself laughing more than he’d expected to. The way Jean talked, the way he laughed. He was so animated, so passionate. Marco was less laughing about what he was saying it than how he was saying it. It was… endearing. His sparkling eyes and his rakish grin.

Marco only ever saw Jean when he was groggy, before his morning coffee and breakfast. He was so different now. Marco found himself wishing Jean came by in the afternoons more often. He could imagine having a conversation with him. He could imagine leaning over the counter and laughing at dumb jokes. Ymir rolling her eyes at them when she told Marco to get ready for the lunch rush and cutting off their conversation.

Marco had always had a vivid imagination.

But he found himself drinking more and feeling warmer inside as a result. Soon Jean got up and grabbed another bottle of rosé as the one on the table between them began to dwindle. The bowl of ramen in Marco’s hands quickly turned into a bowl of broth.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself though?” Jean asked, turning his head to Marco, movement lazy and a little drunken. “I’ve been talking about myself too much.”

Marco blushed and hoped Jean would mistake it for the alcohol making his cheeks rosy. “There’s not much to say. I prefer hearing about you...”

Jean snorted at that, setting his bowl down on the coffee table and scooting closer to him. The movie had ended. Something else was playing now, a B-rated horror film that neither of them knew. Marco looked up at Jean and realized… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Jean knew him a little too.

He’d long since forgotten that he was supposed to be making sure Jean didn’t remember him at all.

“Why don’t you start with… your hobbies?”

Marco hummed and looked at his bowl. “I don’t… really have any.” He thought hard. The alcohol was making his head a little fuzzy now, but he still had enough presence of mind not to say monster hunting. “I guess I like hiking,” he murmured.

It wasn’t too much of a lie. His favorite jobs were always the ones in the mountains. Sure, up there it was isolated. Lonely. In a lot of ways, more terrifying than stalking empty alleys at night. But the view at the top… Always beat the nerves and battle that got him there.

Jean was closer when Marco looked up, but instead of flinching in surprise, Marco smiled. “I also like watching movies. And hanging out with my cat.”

Jean’s eyes lit up as if he’d just bit into something good. “A cat! That’s awesome, I’ve always wanted a cat. What’s it’s name? Is it a girl, or a boy--”

Marco chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. Technically it was a skeleton, but Marco could still remember when he was kid, Hypnos alive and well and always trotting beside him. “She’s a girl,” he answered, his voice turning thoughtful. “Her name is Hypnos, and she’s a black kitty with orange eyes.”

Jean smirked a bit. “Very Halloween,” he muttered. “She sounds like some kind of witch’s familiar.”

Marco looked away and nodded, his voice turning soft as he murmured, “Well she loves pumpkins. She’s got that going for her.”

“Dude. Same, Hypnos.”

Marco giggled at that, looking up at Jean again. “You ever had pets?”

Jean’s face sagged a bit as he muttered, “Nah… Mom’s allergic to pet hair. Dad just straight up didn’t like animals.”

Marco nodded sagely. “Well, maybe once you’ve got a place of your own, you could get a few pets?”

Jean’s eyes were bright as he said, teasingly, “Or maybe we could share yours?”

Marco blushed and looked away. “I don’t know… she’s been known to be a little jealous.” His lips tugged into a tiny smile, remembering when Hypnos had first met Armin.

Jean leaned back, and Marco realized he hadn’t even noticed how close they’d been a moment before. “Just my luck--I’m destined to love animals and for them to hate me.”

Marco giggled, his smile soft. “I think she’d love you, after a little bit.”

Jean side-eyed him then and winked as he responded, “If only I could convince the owner to do the same.”

The way Jean said it… it was worded almost like a question. An invitation--a sign that… this was okay. That they were flirting. That Marco wasn’t afraid.

Maybe it was all in Marco’s head. But he smiled anyway, and whispered, “I don’t know… it might take more than one date.”

Jean looked at him. Their eyes met for a moment that felt warm between them. To Marco it almost felt like a blanket had fallen around them. After a long moment he bit his lip and glanced away.

Jean didn’t respond to Marco’s tease, and when Marco glanced, he seemed to be gulping down his glass of rosé, a blush on his face. Marco looked away again as Jean let his glass down, holding it between both hands and looking into it.

“Um…” Jean muttered. They both looked up at each other again, and blushed and turned away after only a moment. “I’ve been wanting to ask for a while… That tattoo on your wrist, what does it mean?”

Marco blinked in surprise for a moment, lowering his glass to look at it in his wrist. The rune tattooed there, protection, wrapped around his wrist, thick and dark. The branches spread towards to the left, “outward” when it was facing him. He tightened his fist a few times to see his bone stand out against the skin and warp the tattoo. “It’s a rune,” he explained softly, looking up at Jean again. “A viking rune, part of their language. It means protection.”

Jean stared at it for a second, his expression awed, before Marco shyly smiled and reached his hand towards him, offering his wrist for inspection. Jean’s grasp was surprisingly gentle.

Before in the parking lot of Starbucks, Marco had been too surprised to really notice how Jean’s hands felt in his. Now it all stood out in stark relief. The roughness of Jean’s palms against the softer backs of Marco’s hands. The way his thumbs rubbed along the supple skin of Marco’s wrist, where his black tattoo stood out in stark contrast to the paler tan of the inside of his arms.

Marco’s eyes looked up to study Jean. He saw things he hadn’t seen before, like the way Jean’s thick eyebrows furrowed over his sharp eyes. The flicker of gold behind the amber, and the way his bangs fell into his lashes. Even the sharpness to his nose seemed new and riveting. Marco bit his lip.

“It’s so cool,” Jean breathed, looking up at Marco finally. His hands wrapped around Marco’s, and this time when their eyes met, Marco didn’t look away.

“I have more,” he said instead, and Jean’s eyes lit up somehow even brighter than before.

“Show me.”

Marco was happy to. He tilted down the neck of his shirt and sweater to show off the scribbly rune of joy on his collarbone. He turned to show off the nape of his neck where strength resided. He even, very shyly, lifted the back of his clothes to let Jean see the rune of wisdom tattooed on the small of his back, just where his spine dipped.

Jean’s hands touched every one, and Marco shivered at every touch. Jean’s fingers were so gentle, reverent almost. He asked Marco softly, “What do they all stand for?”

So Marco brought his hand to touch each one as he explained. “Strength,” he murmured, letting Jean’s thumb rub the place where his hair met his skin. “Joy,” he whispered, and let Jean’s fingers press that sensitive indent where his collarbone hid beneath his neckline. “Wisdom,” he hummed, and let Jean’s hand wander to the small of his back and pull him closer.

Their eyes met again, and this time neither wanted to look away.

Marco’s face turned redder, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to turn his head. He smiled sheepishly. His skin felt warm, and his stomach churned. He told himself it was the ramen. He told himself it was the alcohol.

He told himself it wasn’t the touch of Jean’s hand or the way it pushed up his sweater and t-shirt and caressed the skin beneath.

“I can draw you one,” he murmured, biting his lip as if it could somehow hide his smile.

Jean’s eyes sparkled. “Yeah? I have a sharpie somewhere around here.”

“Go get it.”

Although Jean was only gone a moment, Marco found himself missing his hand on the small of his back. It felt as if the rune there was glowing. He knew it probably wasn’t--if any were to glow at a time like this, it’d be the joy on his collarbone.

Jean came back stumbling, sharpie in hand and one hand on the hem of his shirt. He handed the marker to Marco. “I’m thinking on my back sounds good?” Jean said. “Won’t wash off as quickly then.”

And without waiting for Marco’s response, he bent over a bit and dragged his shirt off over his head.

Marco’s eyes went wide, his face went red, his mouth fell open. Oh.  _ Ohhhh _ .

Jean had always seemed the lanky college student type, but that wasn’t the case at all. As he stood straight, Marco could see his body was toned, muscles defined. Did he work out? The thought had never crossed Marc’s mind before, but now he found himself thinking long and hard about it. There had to be a reason for those abs.

Jean didn’t seem to notice his flustered response, instead plopping down on the couch in front of Marco, back facing him. “What’re you thinking of drawing?” he asked.

Marco somehow managed to shut his jaw, staring now at Jean’s back and the muscles that showed there as well. He was struck with an inexplicable urge to squeeze Jean’s biceps, or to run his hands down his toned back.

But he swallowed the thought. Jean wanted him to draw a rune on him. He knew a charm would only last so long as the mark itself did, but still… he wanted to draw one that would mean something.

It wasn’t long until he made his decision. He remembered clearly the night Jean had discovered Marco was a witch. The thought made all of Marco’s previous lighthearted attraction crash back down into reality.

Oh yeah. That was why he was even there in the first place. He was supposed to make sure Jean didn’t remember him at all--that he wouldn’t be in danger.

Marco’s fingers trembled as he made his decision. He crossed his legs under him and scooted closer to him, until he could feel Jean’s warmth radiating, and could place his hands carefully against his back. He leaned in to whisper in Jean’s ear, “Protection.”

Marco made the initial shape easily enough, but he began to darken the lines. He made them neater, thicker. His eyes began to glow as he cast the charm under his breath.

Runes themselves had power when used correctly, but it couldn’t hurt to have a little extra protection.

But Jean was clueless. He shivered under every touch of Marco’s cold fingertips. “Marco?” he whispered after a moment, causing Marco to pause.

“Yes?” Marco asked as Jean rolled his shoulders.

He quickly hunched again so Marco could continue drawing, but his head lowered more. “I um… I know it’s kind of late in the date to say this but… You look beautiful.”

Marco paused again. The sharpie stopped where the initial line branched into everything else. He pulled it away slowly, staring there in the center of Jean’s shoulder blade. When he finally looked up, Jean had turned around to look at him too. Marco bit his lip and swallowed before whispering, “You look nice too.”

Jean smirked a little, but there was a shyness to it. “Just nice?” he asked, and there was that same soft and silent question,  _ is this all right? _

Marco nodded.

And suddenly Jean had closed the scant distance between them. Marco’s eyes shut on instinct. God he hadn’t kissed in such a long time. His head was spinning; he wasn’t sure if he should push Jean away or pull him closer.

But it felt so nice…

Jean’s lips weren’t soft--they were chapped and coarse--but they felt so plush against his. They pushed and opened against his mouth, and Marco’s lips trembled as they opened as well.

Jean turned more towards him, their lips separating for a brief moment before meeting again, this time with Jean leaning into him. Marco leaned back as Jean leaned forward. His hands moved up to grab Jean’s shoulders, needing the anchor as he awkwardly pulled his legs out from under him.

Where was he supposed to put his legs? They fell over the edge of the couch, just missing the coffee table. His hand slipped and dropped to Jean’s shoulder blade, right over the rune he’d just drawn. Jean’s tongue was on his now. Jean had grabbed his knee and pulled it up so he could lay Marco down on the couch more fully.

And somewhere in the midst of it Marco felt himself start to grin. It was hard to kiss when he was smiling so wide.

He lay back against the couch. Something dug into his back, and they laughed as Jean pulled a DVD case out from under the cushion and tossed it onto the table. Marco’s hands slipped down between them and touched Jean’s chest. Jean’s mouth moved from his mouth and onto his jaw, down his neck. Marco tilted his head for his kisses and bit his lip around a soft gasp as Jean moved between his legs.

Everything was happening so fast, his brain was hazy with desire. He almost didn’t notice when one of Jean’s hands began to sneak up his shirt, up his stomach and towards--

Marco’s breath hitched, and his eyes flew open.

No. No, no, no.

Suddenly his stomach twisted, and he felt sick. His hand slapped down on Jean’s, stopping it in it’s course. “J-Jean stop,” he gasped, his throat tight and his words choked.

Jean pulled away immediately, sitting up and wrenching his hand out from under Marco’s shirt. Marco’s legs tucked closer to his chest. “I’m sorry,” Jean stuttered, his expression horrified. “Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-- God, this is just a first date-- Marco, I--”

Marco lifted his hand to cut him off, curling his legs closer to himself and looking at his knees. “No,” he whispered. He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong… I was just… I just don’t feel very good…”

Jean shook his head, and Marco could see that his hands were trembling at his sides. “Marco, no, it’s okay, you don’t have to give me an explanation. If you don’t want to, then that’s it, it’s all right.”

Marco looked up at him, feeling his lips tremble as he looked down again. “I’m sorry…”

Jean moved as if to reach out towards him, but he paused halfway there, as if realizing Marco might not want him to touch him. Marco reached out instead and let his hand brush Jean’s knee. Jean swallowed. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he insisted, looking up to meet Marco’s eyes.

Marco still felt the ball of anxiety swirling in his gut, but there was a warmth in his throat building up slowly more and more as he looked at Jean. Finally, before it could choke him up, he swallowed it and whispered, “Thank you.”

There was a short silence where neither of them seemed sure what to say. Marco curled his legs back up and wondered if he should suggest walking home, but before he could, Jean asked, “Do you… Are you up for dessert? I-I mean, I understand if you’re not but--there’s um, I got some pumpkin spice cupcakes? Because you always order it at Starbucks, and I thought… You might...”

Marco looked up at the words, already knowing he would say yes. He’d always been a sucker for sugar, sure--but he knew the real reason was how sweet Jean was. Of all the things Marco had expected after turning Jean away, it hadn’t been Jean saying it was okay and that he didn’t want the date to end.

Marco didn’t hesitate to say yes.

 

It was hours later that they realized it was long past time for Marco to head home. Jean’s car was filled with music, and Jean’s laughter. Even at two AM, he didn’t seem tired. Marco wished he could pretend the same, but Jean had to practically drag him up the stairs to his apartment door.

They stood there for a moment, the laughter and chatter from before drizzling out into an awkward but meaningful silence. Marco leaned back against the door, hands clasped in front of him as he looked at his shoes. He only looked up when Jean cleared his throat. The blush on his face surely was the same on Marco’s face too.

“Goodnight?” Marco whispered softly, reaching into his back pocket for his keys.

Jean nodded sheepishly, stepping back towards the stairs and looking at his shoes, arms behind his back. Marco had never gone on a real date before, but he couldn’t help but treasure how cliche it felt.

How normal.

“We should… do this again sometime,” Marco asked, his tone hopeful. The way Jean’s eyes lit up beneath his lashes, the way his lips turned into a soft smile… Marco could tell he agreed.

Marco pulled his keys out and moved to put them in the door, but at that moment, Jean rushed forward and kissed Marco’s cheek.

It was over the moment it began, and Marco’s eyes went wide and starry as Jean pulled away. He touched his cheek with delicate fingertips, almost afraid to brush off the warmth by accident.

Jean didn’t say a word about it, just nodded eagerly and said, “I-I’ll um, I’ll text you, and we can m-make plans for another date?”

Marco smiled sheepishly at him, hand still on his cheek. “Yes,” he whispered.

Jean rushed off.

When Marco walked in, he didn’t even notice Hypnos clawing at his toes. He didn’t feel the usual chill of his apartment or the usual loneliness. He felt as if his whole body was glowing--the rune at his collarbone was at least.

He couldn’t sleep when he laid down. The thoughts of Jean kept his eyes wide open.

He’d never expected… never dreamed… never let himself believe… That anyone could treat him like he was special the way Jean had… That anyone could treat him like he was  _ normal _ .

He felt like a little kid, feeling those first warm blushes of a crush. He wished he’d invited Jean in. He wished the date had never ended. He wished…

He wished he hadn’t been afraid. That he hadn’t stopped him from reaching up and touching him. He let his own cold fingers drift up his shirt, passed the scar and touched his nipple. He wasn’t sensitive there anymore, but when he closed his eyes and imagined Jean still kissing his neck...

He’d liked the way it felt. When Jean had kissed his neck and smiled against the skin. He’d liked how Jean had left little pecks along his collarbone and surely made the rune there glow with power.

His eyes opened, and he pulled his hand out of his shirt, staring up at the ceiling. When he stood up, Hypnos was sitting very unamused at the side of his bed. He smiled shyly and said, “You need to go to bed.”

He picked her up under the spine, and although she stretched to keep her feet on the floor and tried to climb over his arm, opening her jaw in protest, Marco merely scooped her up in both arms and carried her through the door and back to her little pink bed. She left claw marks in his forearm, but he didn’t care, dropping her down and snapping his fingers. She fell apart, and he kissed the top of her skull before giggling and rushing back to his room and locking the door.

His heart was racing. He hadn’t done this in so long. But even despite the chill, he pulled off his sweater and laid down on the bed, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander back to Jean.

Back to the way his muscles had rippled under his shirt. Back to the rakish way he smiled and ran his hand through his hair, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Marco pursed his lips as if Jean’s were still against them.

He rubbed along his sides, his knees raising and instinctively spreading a bit as he felt himself start to warm up. The cold air might as well have not been there for as much as he felt it.

His hands were more slender, fingers longer, but if he closed his eyes tight enough he could imagine it was Jean reaching under his shirt again. He circled his bellybutton with one finger, sliding up along his skin to his chest, between his scars. He shivered, moving his other hand down the opposite way. Down his chest and along his stomach, each fingertip another hot line of contact. Marco could feel his breath coming in faster.

What would Jean say? He bit his lip and felt it tremble as he tried to imagine it. “You’re so beautiful,” he might say. “Your skin is so soft. Can I pull off your shirt?”

Marco’s lips trembled more, and he whispered ever so softly yes.

His hands moved to either side of his shirt, and he pulled it up slow, eyes still closed, imagining Jean’s hands instead of his own. He wondered how Jean would react… how would he feel… if he saw how Marco really was…

But he shook the thought out of his head, determined to only imagine the positives. To keep up the illusion. Jean wouldn’t be surprised, wouldn’t be freaked out. He’d say, “I love looking at you.”

Marco pinched gently at his skin, imitating the nipping kisses he imagined Jean would give him. Up his quivering stomach and sides. He imagined Jean asking permission to touch him where he was least confident. He imagined Jean’s sincere gaze, the way his eyes seemed to sparkle as if he were mesmerized by Marco.

“Yes,” he breathed, his hands moving up to run against his nipples. They were slowly hardening, but it didn’t feel as good as he wanted it to.

But that was okay. He could already feel himself getting wet in his pants. He hastily reached down to unbutton them. He imagined Jean’s hands again, how they’d open him up and kiss along the edge of his jeans the whole time.

How he’d slide them down his thighs enough to get to the warmth between his legs, look up at Marco, bright eyes dark with lust. How he’d ask permission again, his voice husky with arousal.

Marco bit his lip around a whimper, but he paused before reaching into his boxers. Fuck. He really didn’t want to get his hands dirty.

The illusion broke for a moment as he opened his eyes back up to the ceiling.

“Fuck,” he muttered, rolling onto his stomach and digging beneath his bed. “Ugh I need to keep it on the nightstand.”

He had to lean over the side, looking under with his hair touching the floor. “There you are!”

He fished underneath, pants digging uncomfortably into the backs of his thighs, before he finally pulled out the discreet shoe box where he kept his deepest darkest secrets: vibrators.

He pulled out a thin blue one, and sat back, spreading his legs again as much as he could in his pants, box sitting beside him. He closed his eyes and tried to get back into the illusion.

Jean smiling at him… He’d say he was cute, so worried about making Jean get his hands dirty. He’d say, “Don’t worry, I like getting my hands dirty.”

Jean’s kiss would feel so sweet. Marco warmed the vibrator in his hand before gently reaching down to rub it along his mound, still covered by his dark grey boxers. He could imagine it was Jean’s finger, and rubbed it lower, his head falling back as his breathing picked up again.

Jean kissing his neck. Jean touching his side. Jean calling him beautiful. Armin--

Marco’s eyes went wide. Armin?

He blinked rapidly, pulling the vibrator up almost fast enough to hurt his wrist. Armin. Armin…

His head was starting to ache.  _ Armin. Armin. Armin _ .

He could feel a presence starting in the back of his head.  _ Armin _ .

_ Armin? _ he asked, his voice sounding nervous.

He could tell it wasn’t Armin’s voice in his head but his own. The presence felt odd, ominous, afraid. The fear destroyed every thought he’d had before and all he could think was about how worried he was for Armin.

_ Armin are you there?  _ His voice was becoming desperate. _ What’s wrong? Armin? Talk to me, what’s going on? _

There was nothing, but the presence in the back of his head was beginning to build. He couldn’t think of anything but Armin. His brain was pulsing; his head was ringing like getting punched in the teeth.

_ Armin! _ he called, gritting his teeth against the building migraine.

And that was when Armin screamed in his head.

It was like something was ripping through his skull. He screamed too, ducking his head and covering his ears. The presence felt like it was consuming him, making his lungs burn and his skin too cold.

_ Help, help, help me, please, anyone, help me-- _

Marco stumbled out of bed, struggling to pull his pants up with one hand, the other covering his ear, paranoid of finding blood.

_ Armin it’s me! _ he cried out, searching desperately for Armin’s conscious. He was in danger--Marco’s stomach felt like it was twisting into knots.  _ Armin please, I’m here, tell me what’s going on! _

All he got was an image. He wanted to scream at the pain, wracking through his brain like claws. He felt like he’d just gotten smashed skull first into a stone wall. He struggled not to collapse to his knees, grabbing onto the nightstand to keep his balance. A blurry figure running. Fresh grass bristling beneath feet. There wasn’t anything specific. He couldn’t apparate to Armin if he didn’t know where he was going.

“Armin, tell me where you are!” he shouted, stumbling to push through the door of his room.

His fingers slipped on the lock as more images bombarded his head. Two figures this time… giving chase. Fangs… red with blood... 

He opened the door and struggled to the kitchen. He could see as if through Armin's eyes, glancing hurriedly over his shoulder, into darkness. When he blinked he was shoving things aside in the fridge until he found the vial he was looking for.  _ Hold on, Armin, I'm coming, please, just tell me where you are! _

He stood, shakily popping the bottle open and downing the shimmering black and purple liquid. It was bitter but necessary, he couldn't apparate safely without it. Either way he didn't taste it, his head swimming in Armin's mind when suddenly the image he needed fell into his mind's eye: an entrance sign. The local park.

He dropped the bottle and broke into a run, struggling to shake the pain, knowing whatever was waiting on the other end of this spell wouldn't let up because his head was splitting open.

“Appareo,” he gasped, the image embedded in his brain. He blinked through the agonized tears clouding his vision and struggled to turn his thoughts to the park entrance. It helped to think of it as the place where he’d find Armin. He ran as hard as he could, and just before he could slam into the front door, he was there.

Still running, he found himself rushing through the front entrance of the park, almost slipping on the wet grass. But still he ran. The presence here was even stronger. An oppressive force, dropping onto him heavy as bricks and thick as a comforter. Marco felt almost as if he couldn’t breathe.

But there, in the distance, he could see yellow sparks of light, and he knew it was Armin. He willed his legs to work, running harder and faster than he could bear. Whatever was going on, Armin needed him.

The lights moved, and Marco knew Armin was running from something. His imagination ran wild, running through all the possibilities. Each seemed worse than the last.

But the yellow lights were coming closer, running between the copses of trees on the edge of the park. Marco skidded to a stop, breathing hard. He could hear running through the trees, see flashes of light, but not where they were coming from. He whipped around in circles, searching for a source--

And that was when he heard it. Hissing voices, rife with some sort of dark humor. He felt himself beginning to tremble. The headache was ebbing, and so were his overwhelming thoughts of Armin. He began to think of himself--what had he gotten himself into? Where was he? Who exactly was out here with him?

Suddenly, the voices were upon him. “Oh, another little witch?” one chuckled.

Marco backed up a step. The trees felt like they were closing in all of a sudden. He couldn’t pinpoint where the voice was coming from, and another was quickly joining it.

“Probably back up. Can’t you hear this one calling for help?”

Marco gritted his teeth. That had to mean Armin. He reached up to his chest, feeling the sewn weapon in his shirt. He grabbed the handle and pulled. In a burst of blue light, the weapon slipped out of his shirt, string turning to metal in his hand. “Who are you?” he asked, somehow keeping his voice steady.

This time he heard no voices. He focused his eyes, but with the yellow flashes of magic gone, he could hardly see. He whispered the incantation to himself, feeling his eyes begin to glow.

That’s when he saw the two white faced figures across the clearing from him. His heart started to race. There was nothing twisted about their faces, nothing unnatural about the way they hunched their shoulders. But then slowly Marco could see their lips spread into matching grins.

Marco hardly had time to scream before they were racing towards him. He felt a heavy force send him flying, and he skidded across the ground, barely keeping the athame in his hand. “Fuck!” he gasped, feeling roots and dirt scrape against his skin.

The laughter echoed around him, and he scrambled to get up. “Disappointing.”

“Is this your backup?”

“Why don’t you come out of hiding?”

“Looks like this one needs backup more than you.”

Marco looked around him, panting. His eyes searched desperately for a snatch of white skin. All around him the trees felt like they were spinning. The flashes moved too fast for him to track down.

“Gotcha!” one of the voices suddenly cackled from behind him, but as he whipped around, weapon in hand, a burst of yellow lightning cracked into the monster’s chest and sent him flying into a tree.

It was then Marco got a good glimpse of what he’d been fearing all along: a vampire.

The monster’s eyes were ringed with red, sunken in as if he were starving, and his fangs were far too big for his mouth. Marco’s breath shuddered in his chest, but before he could hesitate further, he felt a familiar hand grab his arm and yank him away.

He stumbled into a run after Armin, his slender hand around his bicep tight with fear. “Why did you come?” Armin gasped, barely glancing back at Marco. “Now we’re both in danger!”

Marco shook his head. The sound of the vampires following made his head swim, he could barely think through the fear. All those sounds were deliberate--the vampires wanted to know they weren’t safe.

“Y-you called me,” was all Marco managed to get out before the vampire from before dropped down in front of them, fangs bared and eyes ringed with red.

But it had no chance to attack. Armin lifted his hand and shouted, “Fulmen!” Lightning burst from his palm, golden and sparking. It hit the vampire in the chest and sent him flying back. Marco barely saw him skid along the ground before Armin yanked him away.

Armin led him through the trees. Around them the trees grew thicker, and it was harder to see where they were going. The glow of Marco’s eyes were the only light, casting little circles of light through the brush. He couldn’t stop himself from looking behind them. The sounds of the vampires chasing was gone now, but still his heart was pounding. He’d done his research--he knew they could be silent if they wanted to.

“What’s going on?” he whispered, his voice harsh in the eerily quiet woods. “Why are they chasing you?”

Armin shook his head, looking around frantically. Marco could feel him searching in his mind, searching for the vampires thoughts. He gritted his teeth. “They don’t think,” he hissed. “I don’t get it, no matter how hard I look, I can’t find  _ anything _ …”

Armin slowed to a stop, breathing hard. Marco turned his back to him, searching the thicket for some sign they were still being followed. Their breathing sounded so loud in the air. “Do you have a weapon?” Armin asked.

Marco’s hands trembled around his athame now. “Yes,” he whispered. “But… I need to be close…”

Armin nodded, his expression grim. “Then I’ll get you close. I… I know my offensive magic isn’t as good as it should be but....” He shook his head, and when he looked at Marco next, he looked determined. “Forget that. I’ve got your back okay?”

Marco nodded, but his confidence was low. Armin wasn’t an offensive fighter. He wished he’d bothered to listen himself when Levi tried to teach them both--maybe then he could help Armin too.

With gritted teeth, they backed up until they were back to back, looking out at the darkness and waiting for their enemies to come for them.

They didn’t have to wait long. Armin gasped a spell and lightning burst from his palm, knocking one out of the sky. Now that Marco was paying attention, he could see that the lightning left no real wound, only burning the vampire’s clothes. He leapt to his feet as if nothing had happened. Taking a deep breath, Marco reached up with his athame and lightly slit his palm. Instead of bleeding out, the weapon seemed to absorb his blood and begin to glow. “Work with me, baby,” he whispered to it.

The other vampire came out of the darkness, but he wasn’t surprised this time. He didn’t hesitate to rush forward, athame glowing in hand. He struggled to remember everything Levi had ever taught him.  _ Remember the back and forth, don’t let up for a moment, Marco _ .

His first swing went wide, but lightning struck where the vampire stepped, leaving him to stumble. That’s when Marco went in again, this time swinging with precision. His athame connected, left a slash across the vampire’s chest. No blood burst forth from the wound, a sure sign that they were empty and thirsty for it.

It was the vampire’s turn to lunge, launching himself at Marco. He barely managed to sidestep, the vampire’s hand connecting with his shoulder. He gasped in pain, stumbling aside and grabbing his shoulder.  _ Fuck they hit hard _ , he thought.

_ You think? _

Somehow Armin’s voice was comforting. He saw out of the corner of his eye, Armin’s eyes were lit now with the sight spell and his hands were sparking with lightning. Marco could see the faint light of his rune of power glowing at his wrist beneath his sleeve.

Marco struggled to focus. Fear for Armin and worry that he would make a mistake clouded his judgement. But he struggled to remember how Levi had instructed. Widened his stance and focused on his surroundings.

Beyond his breathing, beyond the sound of Armin’s lightning striking the ground, he listened for the sound of the vampire coming towards him. Not there, not there… He took a deep breath…

And swung, whipping around to find the vampire in midstep. His athame sliced through his arm, causing the vampire to skid back and hiss. The sound echoed in his ears, but he refused to let it scare him. He didn’t let up, stepping forward and slashing again. The vampire kept stumbling backwards, and Marco dared to let himself smile.

That was when he heard Armin’s shout. He whipped around, losing focus, to see Armin shoved to the ground and shooting a wild strike of lightning from his palm. Marco didn’t think, didn’t bother to check where the other vampire was. He rushed to Armin, hearing the vampire at his heels almost too late. He barely managed to slash out at him and stumbled back onto the ground.

Before he could gather his senses, he found himself wrestling with a vampire on top of him. Teeth bared in his face, the hiss drowning his head in fear. He screamed,and  the vampire shoved his hands to the ground beside either side of his head. His athame was forced out of his grasp.

“Armin!” he felt himself shriek, kicking out uselessly and shoving his arms towards the vampire to keep him back.

The vampire began to laugh, starting as a deep rumble and becoming a deeper cackle. “You’re no threat. The Old One would laugh to see how you struggle--”

A burst of lightning sent him flying mid-sentence. Marco didn’t waste any time, his athame in his hand before he’d even rolled to his knees. Armin grabbed his shoulder and pulled him up to stand beside him, and the grim determination in his expression made Marco suddenly realize that he was completely out of his depth. He’d never listened when Levi tried to teach him attack spells, never paid attention to how to wield his athame. He’d always relied on peacefully solving things, running away and hiding. Maybe Armin wasn’t strong, but Marco was useless.

He didn’t have time to think about it though, didn’t have time for feeling guilty. The vampire rose to his feet, glaring at the two. His eyes were deep and dark now, still rung with red. Marco felt his breath catch in his throat. As he watched the vampire’s hands seemed to distort--knives sliding from his sleeves and settling between each knuckle. The vampire grinned as if he’d just seen something hilarious. Marco felt a shiver go through him.

“You should have just told us where your little friend is hiding,” he snickered. He began to advance, holding his knives at his side. “You know you can’t get into our heads. You know you’re at a disadvantage in the dark. That sight spell you’re using--it just takes away from your focus. My friend and I don’t have any need for it, do we?”

It was then that Marco remembered the other vampire. Where was he? He whipped around, feeling the slightest brush of pressure behind his back. His athame trembled violently in his hand as he held it out before him. No one was there. His heart was hammering in his chest.

Armin’s voice sounded bitter, unwavering as he spat, “If we’re at a disadvantage then why is your friend the only one wounded?”

Marco would have smiled at the sarcasm in Armin’s voice, but suddenly he could hear the other vampire walking through the underbrush. “Confident little witch,” he snickered. His eyes glowed like a cat’s in the darkness. Marco swallowed. “I’m not bleeding, am I? Would you call that a wound?”

_ It doesn’t make sense, _ Armin’s voice whispered in Marco’s head. Here he sounded nervous, shuddering and unsure.  _ How do you talk without thinking about what you’re saying first? I don’t get it, Marco, I don’t get it, I don’t-- _

“Then we’ll just have to hit harder,” Armin sneered and lifted his hand again as if in warning against the vampire advancing towards him.

He only got a grin as warning. Then it was as if he disappeared. The next moment he was at Marco’s back and shoving him onto his face. Marco screamed in surprise, barely ducking his head out of the way, slashing across the apple of his cheek with the athame. The weapon glowed bright with the power of his blood, but still it splashed out, down his cheek and chin.

“Marco!”

He tried to flip onto his back, but hands grabbed his arm and yanked him through the mud. He felt helpless in the vampire’s titanium grip. There was a crunch like bones cracking, but the pain was still dull, not quite broken. Still he screamed and kicked out uselessly as he was dragged up into the air. The athame fell from his grasp.

A flash of lightning flew just past his shoulder into the face of the vampire behind him. He thumped onto the ground and scrambled to find his athame in the darkness. His focus lost, the sight spell began to fail, eyes flickering like faulty flashlights. His eyes scrambled to adjust, he looked around frantically.

_ Help me, help me, help me, help me, help me-- _

Marco grabbed his head with both hands, gritting his teeth against the migraine budding up again. He whipped his head around to see Armin scurrying back from the vampire advancing on him. The knives glinted, faint moonlight glancing across the surface. Marco’s hands were empty as he tried to rush forward.

The vampire was faster.

One moment there, the next in front of Armin, slashing at his face the same way the lightning had struck his friend. Armin’s shriek echoed in Marco’s head. The sound of Armin’s voice in his head burst like the blood from his face.

_ HELP ME, HELP ME, HELP ME, HELP ME, HELP ME-- _

Marco screamed too and felt tears follow the blood flowing down his own face. No, no, no, no, this couldn’t be happening, this wasn’t happening, it couldn’t, it wasn’t--

Marco sobbed, his voice already sounding hoarse, and suddenly…

The vampire froze midstep. Marco hardly noticed, not until the vampire began to laugh. He looked up, tears streaming down his face. The laugh quickly became a cackle. “Is this all you can do?” He seemed to struggle, but slowly his foot hit the ground again. Marco couldn’t even bring himself to crawl away from him. “So weak… untrained. Why would The Old One want something like you?”

Marco couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. Every slow step forward made him sob harder. Made the vampire slow more. Armin’s body lay limp on the floor, but his voice was still loud in Marco’s head. All he could think about was Armin. All he could think about was that he was hurt, maybe even dying. How deep did the injury go? Why was Armin’s voice beginning to fade out?

The vampire’s feet appeared beside him. Marco looked up, holding onto his stomach and letting out his hiccuping sobs. “Pathetic little witch. Did your master teach you nothing? Has Erwin lost his touch?”

“Eren.”

Armin’s voice stopped, and Marco’s sobbing paused. He looked towards the sound of a familiar voice. Somehow through the darkness he could make out her form… Hanji.

He dared to smile just the slightest bit, noticing the wolf beside her. It’s eyes glowed sea green through the darkness, teeth glinting as it opened its mouth. Hanji didn’t smile as she usually did. She pointed at the vampire, and with a growl that sent shivers down Marco’s spine, the wolf leaped at him.

Marco only barely managed to duck out of the way of the wolf’s bulky body tackling the vampire to the ground. “Marco!” Hanji called. She raced through the trees towards him, and just as Marco managed to get to his feet, her arms went around his waist. “Are you all right? I heard Armin’s call, where--”

Marco barely needed to point. The moment Hanji saw his limp body, her eyes turned dark and she covered her mouth with one hand. Marco felt the tears begin anew, knowing that she must have assumed the worst. What if Hanji was right? What if he wasn’t okay? His voice was gone now... 

She shook her head of the horrified expression and let go of Marco, racing towards Armin.

The other vampire, face charred beyond recognition, leapt from the darkness, but before he got near Hanji, another wolf met him in midair. They tumbled to the ground, wrestling and scratching at one another.

The shriek of the vampires’ dying were background noise as Hanji lifted Armin off the forest floor. He looked so small in her arms. His head lolled to the side, and when she turned to Marco, he could see the gashes across his left eye. She looked at Marco intensely, walking towards him. It seemed as if she couldn’t hear the wolves enjoying their meal either. “You have taken the potion correct? We need to get to Runes immediately. Levi heard as well… he might be able to heal him if we get there fast enough.”

As she said it, she reached into her pocket for a vial of the potion. She ordered Marco to hold Armin’s mouth open and poured the shimmering black and purple liquid down his throat. He spluttered only weakly, but Marco could see his throat move slightly as he swallowed. It was then that Hanji grabbed Marco’s wrist and muttered the incantation.

They were inside Runes, and Levi was already upon them. He wrenched Armin out of Hanji’s arms and laid him across one of the tattooing tables. All of the materials he’d need for a thorough healing were set out, and Marco knew Hanji had been sent to save them so he could prepare.

Marco watched helplessly, feeling his heart in his throat. Now that there wasn’t a threat anymore, everything hurt. The slice in his cheek stung and his face felt sticky with the blood. His arm ached in his socket from where the vampire wrenched him to his feet. He felt himself starting to cry again.

He didn’t feel the chill in the room he usually did when Erwin came in from the backroom. He only felt his firm hand gentle on his spine. “Come with me,” he whispered. “We must let Levi and Hanji work.”

Marco didn’t see the walk to the office in the back of the shop. Past Levi’s desk and row of weapons, past the only bathroom and into the cramped and messy room where Erwin sold the rarest ingredients. Marco didn’t feel Erwin guide him into a seat, or hear him pull out his own to sit across the desk from him. “Sit still,” he said softly, and then his fingers brushed across the apple of his cheek. “Heal,” was all Erwin needed to say. Marco felt the wound stitch itself shut where his fingers passed. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Marco felt tears wet on his cheeks, but they were numb and silent. He shook his head. “I’m not…” Marco’s hands trembled in his lap. He clasped them together. Held them on his knees before bringing one up to cover his mouth as a whimper dripped through. “What… what happened?”

Erwin sat back in his seat, looking away. “Light,” he murmured. The only lamp in the room flickered on. “That is something you’ll have to tell me.”

Marco shook his head, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t know… I heard Armin… he needed help. I apparated to him, and… he was being--we were being attacked by vampires…”

“What did they look like?”

Marco couldn’t remember. While they’d fought he hadn’t even thought about it. “They didn’t bleed,” he whispered. “They didn’t think. Their eyes were red and… When they smiled…”

“Did they say anything?”

Marco went silent, remembering the taunting. Now that he could think about it, the only thing that had stood out to him had been... “They kept talking about the... The Old One?”

Erwin breathed in deeply, sharply. Marco only heard it because it was so out of place. He looked up slowly, seeing a bit of nervousness on Erwin’s usually stoic expression. “They… Mentioned you too,” he whispered. The pieces began to connect in his head. “And you’ve heard that name before. Haven’t you?”

Erwin’s silence was all the answer he needed. He felt the fear meld inside his stomach, melt together with his pain and create a dread and anger that made his hands shake. “You… You’re the reason Armin was even out there, aren’t you?” He shot to his feet, the legs of his chair screeching on the floor. “You sent him to get you more information, didn’t you? And you knew he would be in danger!”

Erwin looked as calm as he always did. It only infuriated Marco even more. Armin was laying the next room over, limp and broken, maybe dying, and Erwin had the nerve to sit there silently, fingers steepled and mouth resting against them, as if it had all been part of some greater good. Marco’s fingers itched to rip things off the shelves, to smash vials and shred papers. “I can’t fucking believe this! Why would you send him?” he shouted. Surely Levi and Hanji could hear him through the walls--but he didn’t fucking care.

He slammed his hands onto the desk in front of Erwin, who didn’t even flinch. “How could you send him, why not Levi? Why not Hanji? They’re both a million times stronger! Why not go yourself!”

“You know the reason,” Erwin said simply.

Marco wanted to scream. “Because he’s a telepath,” he spat through his teeth, and then whipped around, dragging his hands through his hair. “But that didn’t matter did it! Did you know it wouldn’t? That they don’t  _ fucking _ think?”

He didn’t notice how the air became tense, or how Erwin’s brows furrowed as if he were in deep thought. “Then… Things are far more dangerous than I…”

Marco didn’t hear, whipping around to continue, “He’s not as old as you are, he doesn’t know as much as you do, and you still let him go  _ alone _ \--”

Erwin’s eyes were sharp when they shot up to meet Marco’s. Marco felt that sudden, suffocating presence of Erwin’s magic. It made his throat close up. He could see and feel the cold blueness to it--almost like his own magic. “You need to calm down,” Erwin’s voice said, sickeningly soft.

Marco managed to scoff and bared his teeth, stepping back and out of his reach. “Don’t you  _ dare _ manipulate my feelings!” he growled. “I have every right to be pissed off!”

Erwin shook his head, looked to the side as if he hadn’t tried a thing. It only made Marco angrier. How could he be so calm, how was he always so calm!

“Armin almost died!”

“And so will many other witches,” Erwin said, his voice soft. Still it stopped Marco in his tracks. Erwin turned his head to look at Marco. “The vampires do not think, you said? And they mentioned this… Old One?”

Marco felt wary as he nodded. What was he getting at? What did he know that Marco didn’t?

Erwin breathed in, and somehow Marco could see how the muscles of his face strained, struggled to preserve his serene expression. “Then the situation may be far more dangerous than I expected.”

He rose to his feet then, and Marco shrunk back as he walked around his desk and to the door behind them. “This was not how I planned for it to happen, Marco,” Erwin whispered. “But I cannot look opportunity in the mouth. You have now seen first hand how dangerous vampires can be.”

Erwin turned and let his hands cross behind his back, looking at Marco seriously. “This is… a lot to ask of you. A lot to ask of anyone.”

Marco could hear the question before it came. He sank into his abandoned seat, feeling the shudder run up his spine. “ _ No _ ,” he hissed.

Erwin pressed on, unfazed. “Witches with your abilities are… especially well-equipped to face whatever threat is oncoming our society.”

Marco shook his head, his hand gripping the edge of the table tighter. “I said  _ no _ .”

Erwin let out a sigh. He walked to Marco and, unexpectedly, squatted beside his chair. Marco shrank deeper into it, unable to meet his gaze. He felt like a child. He knew that was probably the reason Erwin was doing it--to make him feel like a little kid. “Marco… There is a great danger coming. Everyone we care about… they might not be safe any longer. I wouldn’t ask this of you if I thought there was another way.”

Marco felt his stomach twist. Everyone they cared about… All the people he cared about flashed through his head and clung to his brain. Levi’s unimpressed squint that always made him smile… Hanji’s sweet laugh that always made him laugh along. Armin’s smirk that always made him scrunch his nose up…

Jean…

Jean who kissed him like he was important…

Jean who’d made him feel normal…

Erwin stared at him unflinchingly all the while that he thought, sifting through his feelings. Marco could feel his cold blue magic slinking through his veins. “Marco… do you fear losing your loved ones? Or losing them because of your magic?”

Marco felt his lip tremble and bit it hard before turning to Erwin. “You don’t know anything about me--”

But when Erwin smiled, it was tight-lipped and sad. He rose to his feet. “I… I believe we can come to a compromise, Marco… You’re powerful--more powerful than you’ve ever had a mind to be. And your abilities as a necromancer… I know you’d rather not use them this way, I understand… But they could prove invaluable to this oncoming war.”

Marco wanted to protest, turning to look at Erwin as he sat at his desk again. “And in return for using them… I’ll offer you the chance to get rid of them. And live your life as a normal human.”

Marco’s eyes went wide. His throat went silent. He couldn’t even croak out a soft, “What?” His lips barely moved around the word.

He knew what Erwin meant. He knew what he had to mean. Both about using his powers… and taking them away.

“You can’t do that,” Marco whispered. “The Council… it’s illegal. They could throw you in jail, o-or execute you or--”

Erwin shook his head. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, Marco. The ends will justify the means. You use your power to stop this war, and I use mine to bind yours and give you what you’ve always wanted.”

_ A chance to be normal. _

The thought echoed in Marco’s head, loud and clear. A chance to be normal--he’d wanted it ever since he’d discovered his powers. Even long before that…

The idea of it… of being able to hold Jean’s hand and not be afraid of him finding out what he was and what he could do. Of being able to go home and sleep instead of being woken up every night to hunt down some malicious monster. Of being able to finish a book, or a movie, or a video game. Of being able to go on dates, of being able to enjoy work. Maybe finish college? Maybe fulfill all those dreams he’d steadily abandoned over the past three years, since his mother’s death, since his mother’s funeral, where he’d first discovered his powers, and that he could control the dead.

He took a deep breath and saw Erwin hold his hand out, offering the deal between his thick fingers. Marco took it, his hand and voice shaky and weak. “Can I get it in writing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, big thanks to my beta reader for this chapter, palolo-noot!! I couldn't have finished this well without their help =DD  
> So tada! Chapter two is finally finished! =D I hope the wait wasn't too long, I wanted to get it finished by Halloween or at least the end of November but unfortunately that didn't happen UnU  
> I'm still really proud of what I managed to put out though! I really hope everyone likes it!! I'll try to get the next chapter out soon~  
> Love you guys, and remember, kudos and especially comments are my lifeblood! If you have any questions or want to see updates, follow my sideblog novelistangel!

**Author's Note:**

> WOOOOO BOY this has been a long time coming! Special shout out to my friend folfytolfy who supported me in writing this. You're the real novelist angel.
> 
> Anyway, I know I haven't written or been active in the fandom in a while, so consider this and the three more chapters to come as an apology piece UuU Ahhh who am I kidding, I've been dying to write this, it's more of a GUESS WHAT I'VE BEEN WORKING ON WHILE I'VE BEEN GONE piece haha.
> 
> I really hope everyone enjoys, I'm super excited for what's to come! As always, kudos are appreciated and comments are adored, so leave as many as you like! My writing/fandom blog is novelistangel on tumblr, and I'm also happy to field questions and comments there as well UuU Thank you for reading!


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